slow down, i'm waiting
by lismicro
Summary: In which ten-year old Lauren Lewis meets Bo Dennis and everything that comes after. Enter Tamsin and everything gets complicated. Lost Girl AU, Some Doccubus but mostly Copdoc.
1. Chapter 1

Lauren Lewis is a thinker.

She thinks before she talks, before she moves. She ponders the composition of her toothpaste before she squeezes it onto her toothbrush, the origins of the vegetarian pizza at lunch, and the history of the famous scientists she reads about in textbooks. Sometimes she can't go to sleep at night because while her body is tired, her mind is still at work, thinking and thinking and thinking.

The first time she sees Bo Dennis, every rational thought goes out of her head.

Her mind empties.

Nothing else registers but the sight of a slightly dazed, smiling-too-big little girl standing at the front of the classroom, and a deep internal voice telling Lauren to _PAY ATTENTION_, because right here is something important.

She is ten.

Bo is Lauren's age, just moved from New Brunswick, a place Lauren's heard about but never seen. On the class map, it's almost on the other side of Canada, which makes Bo an alien as far as Lauren is concerned. But she looks pretty normal, with a Wonder Woman lunchbox in her hand and a plaid bow in her hair, so Lauren figures that she can get used to it.

Lauren's also the smartest person in their class, probably the smartest person in the entire grade, and the teacher doesn't hesitate to assign Bo to the desk next to her. They come closer, and closer, and then Bo is right in front of her, still smiling, and Lauren smiles back.

"Help her," the teacher had said, Bo's little hand clasped tightly around her larger one. "She's just moved here and it's probably going to be a little bit hard for her to get used to our class. I know I can trust you to be her friend."

Lauren nods (mission accepted) and tries hard to breathe normally as Bo plunks her lunchbox down on the desk and almost immediately scoots herself closer to Lauren, until their arms are brushing and Lauren can see the blue of her eyes, clear and nearly pupil-less in the bright sunlight.

"Hi, I'm Bo!"

###

Bo is everyone's friend before lunchtime.

She's smart but not focused, looking out the window or tapping new classmates on the shoulder to ask them their name or what their favorite color is. Of course, they're ten, they're in the fifth grade, nothing really matters yet- but looking back, Lauren sees it, how the friendliness could someday change into something more significant. The wild abandon that Bo makes friends with, that she loves with. Or faux-loves, in a ten year old's mind.

Bo is also reckless and fun, she discovers. At playtime, when Lauren is usually sneaking off to the library or choosing to sit quietly on one of the benches, she grabs Lauren's hand and practically drags her to the swings, urging her to sit and then pushing her out with an uncommon strength that has Lauren clinging to the metal chains on either side of her with terrified excitement, her stomach clenching each time she goes back up against the blue sky.

The first day Lauren Lewis meets Bo Dennis, her grip slips from the swings and she falls to earth with a thud, face-down in the wood chips and feeling nothing for a moment until the most excruciating pain begins to radiate from her wrist.

Bo runs to her, yelling at someone to go get the teacher.

She never leaves Lauren's side.

Her wrist isn't broken, just sprained, but she has to wear a brace for two weeks and to her dismay, can no longer write properly or even feed herself. So Bo becomes her unofficial caretaker, frantically scribbling down notes into Lauren's notebook and then copying them back down in her own, writing so messily that Lauren can't make out the words when she tries to study them later on. Bo feeds her at lunch with equal nervousness, shoving bites of sandwich into Lauren's mouth before she's finished chewing, giving Lauren her strawberry milk every day because Lauren doesn't have the heart to tell her she hates strawberry milk.

Lauren gets her first and only B that year in English, and a strange aching pang in her chest whenever Bo looks at her with eyes that say, "_I'm here. I'm taking care of you, and I'm not gonna stop."_

_###_

It is summer, and they are lying together in the grass of Lauren's backyard. The grass is prickly against Lauren's bare legs and there's probably bugs in her hair, but Bo doesn't care so Lauren doesn't either. To her mind this is bliss,

Her best friend.

In the past school year, Bo has somehow pulled Lauren effortlessly into her orbit, drawing the little blonde into her world. She defends Lauren when the other kids tease her for being small and nerdy, getting Lauren's books back when they hide them in places too hard for her to reach. Bo convinces Lauren to hold a birthday party for herself, her first one with people other than her family, and Lauren discovers later that Bo bullied half a dozen of their classmates to show up. Bo is her protector, her friend. Lauren trusts her implicitly.

Bo is perfect, in a lot of ways, and for all her knowledge of the impossibility of that fact, Lauren believes it.

They look for things in the clouds. Bo sees a pirate ship, and Lauren sees Albert Einstein.

###

A year later, Bo moves away.

It's because of her father's job, she says to Lauren, on the night of their last sleepover. Tears pouring down her face, she explains that she's not coming back to school when it begins again in the fall, and please, _please_ not to forget about her. Lauren can barely hear her through the roaring in her own ears, sees Bo only as a black-and-gray blur from the tears clouding her vision. She can barely tell Bo that it's impossible to forget her, and that's what scares Lauren the most. Impossible.

They are wrapped up together in Lauren's bed, Bo's sleeping bag abandoned on the floor, and Lauren feels like she's going to die from the pain in her chest when Bo tells her they're returning to New Brunswick, that place on the other side of the world. They don't sleep for hours, until they're cried out and exhausted and Lauren's arms ache so much from clutching Bo tightly to her that they simply drop away from the other girl's body.

She lets go, is horrified when she wakes and Bo has retreated to the other side of the bed, and quickly replaces her arms like nothing has happened.

When Bo leaves the next morning, after needing to be physically separated from Lauren, she looks down at the scrap of paper with Bo's new address in her hand and runs to ask her mother if she can look something up on the computer.

New Brunswick is over seven hours away from Toronto.

###

Bo writes first – this detail means everything. It's on printer paper, green crayon, rambling and excited like Bo has never left. The neighbor family has a puppy and her new teacher is nice but no one is as smart as Lauren. The bottom of the letter is sticky, like Bo was eating a popsicle and didn't bother to wash her hands before setting crayon to paper.

Lauren writes back- a letter three times as long as Bo's, neat and on her best stationery. The letter gets to three drafts before she gets the nerve to slip it into their mailbox, and Lauren begins to wait every day by the window for the mailman.

Bo doesn't write back, so Lauren sends another one, this time only two times as long.

The postal service has been facing budget cuts lately, she hears from her mother, and so her letters must not have been reaching Bo. Maybe they've been collecting in some dusty abandoned bin because Bo's neighborhood forgot to pay taxes or something. She doesn't know what taxes are, exactly, just that her parents don't like them, and apparently they're keeping her from Bo. So Lauren sends two letters that day, one to New Brunswick and one to the Prime Minister of Canada, angrily demanding a return to quality.

Neither one receives a reply.

She waits a month and sends another letter, and another, and Bo never returns the favor.

###

In Lauren's mind, Bo never really disappears, just fades into the background, always present but never center stage. She grows up with Lauren through middle school, shouting silent insults to the bullies that tease her for (still) being small and nerdy, holding Lauren's hand through braces and wisdom tooth extraction. When Lauren makes A's in all the highest classes Bo is clapping right next to her parents at assembly. Entering high school is a little easier because Bo is there beside her, effortlessly breaking down the cliques with her inherent friendliness.

Lauren can envision every move that Bo makes, and it comforts her to know that even if she isn't fully accepted, Bo is.

Okay, it's a little creepy, having an imaginary friend when you're in high school, but at least Bo exists, Lauren thinks. She keeps that sole letter in her dresser. She still pulls it out sometimes, just to make sure it's still there, that she's not going crazy.

That Bo really came into her life.

It's not like she doesn't have other friends. There are the kids in her science classes who share all her geekery and with whom she goes, in a large group, to see the Star Trek movies. There's Kenzi, the slightly-delinquent but mostly mischievous girl who takes a liking to Lauren after she socks a particularly persistent bully in the eye, a girl who is tiny and crass and loyal. Lauren gets to know Hale and Dyson, two of the loners who mostly hang around the outside of the school like guardians or something, because Kenzi has a crush on the former and she's in no position to turn down allies. They're alright, just like school is alright and life is alright, but as Lauren works furiously through her classes, she knows there's something more. Something special waiting for her.

There has to be.

* * *

**AN**: Just an introduction, more to come.


	2. Chapter 2

If she were to crack open a history book, now, Bo's presence would be analogous to a Russian winter; fierce, unexpected, able to repel all of Lauren's forces with ease yet somehow gets her to keep coming back, only to be defeated again.

By this she means to say: Bo comes back.

Lauren is sixteen.

It's her worst nightmare and greatest fantasy mixed into one, with a healthy dose of surrealism and a fresh wave of pain coursing through her entire body. It happens almost like it did when they were ten, the classroom door opening and Bo walking in, smiling as wide as ever, like she's a queen returning to home territory.

She's carrying a purse instead of a lunchbox, and wearing jeans instead of a dress, but it's still Bo.

There are ten minutes before class starts, and Lauren is the only one already there except for her biology professor. He allows her to come in and run her own experiments in the lab during her spare time, and she's holding a beaker of a special chlorophyll solution that has taken her months to perfect.

When Bo walks in, Lauren's entire world seems to blur, seems to distort, and she drops the beaker in shock.

It crashes to the floor in a tinkle of broken glass, and Bo's eyes jump immediately from the professor's face to Lauren's horror-stricken one.

Bo's eyes widen, and so does her smile. She knows. She remembers.

Lauren turns and flees. Out the back door of the science lab, to the girls' bathroom across the hall, looking at nothing and absorbing less. She slams the door shut, locks it, and backs into the nearest stall. A gasping sob escapes her throat as the panic threatens to overwhelms her. _Bo is back. Bo is back. Bo is back._

The walls provide no comfort, even when she presses against them, fighting to keep her breath steady. Lauren's read somewhere that this is how they used to calm cows before the slaughter, by squeezing them into tightly confined spaces so their sense of creature comfort overwhelms their sense of panic. She gags as she bends over the toilet; nothing but stomach acid comes out.

It takes a few agonizing minutes to gather herself. She considers running, now, leaving before Bo can find her again, but there's a terrible part of her that wants it, badly, no matter how it affects her. Things, apparently, have not changed since she was ten.

Lauren takes her breaths like they're the last ones she can before she goes under.

Then she exits, walking back into the classroom, one step at a time, her head held high. Her professor is concerned, asking if she's okay while he helps her pick up the broken glass, but all Lauren can think of is not catching Bo's eyes as she crouches down on the floor.

A pair of black boots walks into her line of vision and she curses her fate.

"Lauren!"

She thinks about saying "Sorry, who are you?" but after that kind of initial reaction, there really isn't a way to make it work. Some secret, treasonous part of her is delighted that Bo remembered her name, if nothing else.

_Breathe, Lauren._

She straightens herself and looks Bo steadily in the eye.

Now that the shock has worn off, the fury catches her full-force, and she can't tell where it ends and the euphoria of seeing Bo again begins.

"Lauren, what-"

"You didn't write me back." Lauren says, too loudly. "Bo-" She stops, because the words get caught in her throat. So many things she wants to say, and no way to say any of them.

Bo steps forward, forehead creased in confusion.

"I'm sorry, I lost your address after that first letter, and we moved again a couple years later. My parents- they're wanderers, you know? I missed you so much, though. I never stopped missing you."

Lauren bites her tongue, thinks of the dozens of letters that somehow got lost along the way, reminds herself that Bo was ten years old and didn't know what she was doing.

Bo just doesn't seem to be affected, at all, by five years of radio silence, so Lauren forces down _where have you been?_ and _you have no idea how it felt to lose you _and _please don't have forgotten me _and settles for a strangled-sounding "Missed you, too," before Bo beams and opens her arms.

She has no choice but to hug her. And oh God, it almost makes up for everything, the way Bo feels so solid and warm and sweet smelling against her. And she knows Bo, a little lackadaisical but earnest and well-meaning and maybe she did just forget. Maybe fate just got sidetracked.

"It's so good to see you again, Lauren."

The bell rings for the start of first period.

When Bo grasps her hand excitedly and tells Lauren to show her around, she can fall into easy patterns like she didn't spend five years pining over this girl. They can get back to where they left off. Be best friends, just like before.

Only not, because Lauren's old enough to have reached puberty and by now she knows that guys aren't what floats her boat, and girls make her lose her rational thoughts completely.

And Bo at sixteen is taller, closer to Lauren's height than she's ever been. She has a sensuality in her voice that Lauren's never noticed before, and also maybe the most beautiful face she's ever seen. This new Bo has long, slender fingers and a pair of heart-shaped lips, and a blossoming figure that makes Lauren's heartbeat grow erratic and her legs weak at the knees.

The first time older Bo shows up in one of Laurens' dreams, she's naked and gasping, Lauren's sheets twisted over her glistening torso, head thrown back in ecstasy. Lauren startles awake at three in the morning, body humming with arousal, almost able to feel Bo's tongue against her neck and her breasts heavy and stiff-nippled against Lauren's own.

Lauren covers her face in her hands.

Fuck.

* * *

Bo instantly becomes the most popular person in their school.

Lauren still can't really believe it. All it takes is one look, one touch, for any teacher or student to completely fall in love with the girl, with Bo just waltzing through their ranks like everyone has something to offer her and nothing she wants to take. Kenzi warms to her immediately, nicknaming her "succuBo" after the first time Bo rescues her from a sure suspension with one smile at the enraged gym teacher. Sure enough, Lauren's own social status shoots through the roof when it spreads throughout the school that Bo Dennis is her best friend. It doesn't make her conscience feel any better, but being at Bo's side does make it a hell of a lot easier to get through it all.

She's grateful.

Things are just easier with Bo here. The world seems more vibrant, more colorful, and Lauren finds excuses to leave her room on weekends to go riding with Bo in her yellow Camaro, Kenzi, Dyson, and Hale in the back. Her grades slip a notch (only a notch, mind you, which means she gets A-minuses instead of A-pluses) when Bo takes her places after school that are definitely not home. Abandoned amusement parks, burnt-out houses, and random diners, just looking for adventure.

Lauren learns to relax.

A month passes without incident, and Lauren's life simplifies in a way she never thought it would. There's school, and Bo. Home, and Bo. Her work and applications and internships, and then Bo. Her priorities are clear, but never a trouble to manage. She always makes time for her.

They're close to the end of the school term, which gives everyone but Lauren a chance to slack off their work and enjoy their last few weeks. On their free period one morning, Lauren creeps into the gym to half-heartedly watch a class dodgeball game, a stack of homework beside her to keep her occupied.

Kenzi, who is also skipping out on the physical activity, clambers over several dozen other students and waves to her with one perfectly-manicured hand.

"Hiya, Hotpants!"

How she got that particular nickname, Lauren doesn't really know. But Kenzi insists on calling her by it, and there are worse things to be called. She waves back, clearing a space or Kenzi to sit. The girl drops her enormous purse down beside Lauren and claps her hands together.

"So, Bo."

Lauren starts, her pen dropping out of her hand to mar the perfect paper underneath. So much for physics homework. She raises an eyebrow at Kenzi.

"What about her?"

Kenzi nods at the gym floor, where Bo is literally beating everyone's ass at dodgeball, a fleet of red Nerf balls surrounding her from their failed attempts to bring her down. Dyson is standing at the other end of the court, the last remaining player on the opposite team. His chest heaves as Bo circles him, a dodgeball in hand and a wicked grin on her face.

"How does that happen, exactly? I mean, you're like Dr. Freeze half the time, and you dress like a regular secretary while Bo's like the naughty version of _everyone_'s fantasies, and not just the secretary."

A cheer goes up as Bo nails Dyson in the crotch with the ball. Another point.

"I-I don't know, actually." Lauren says, chewing on her pen cap. She's never asked Bo why exactly they are friends, only that they are, and Bo hasn't found a problem with it. "We knew each other when we were kids. Best friends. She moved away but she came back, and we just fell into the same patterns ever since."

Kenzi ponders this answer, tapping her fingers along her chin.

"Well, if you were the magnet that brought Bo-Bo here, you've got some game, Hotpants. 'Preciate it."

Lauren's entire mouth dries, instantaneously. Her dreams about Bo haven't lessened in the slightest, but she's learned to control her desire for her, partly because she's embarrassed, and partly because she's terrified of giving it away somehow. She knows it's unsustainable, but Lauren can't help but obsess over every hug, every smile that Bo gives her, making sure that her returning hug or smile goes just far enough, and not more.

But there's something else now.

On the gym floor, Bo is laughing as she helps Dyson up, and something burns at the corner of her eyes when she sees the lovesick look Dyson gives Bo, her Bo. They laugh together, and when Dyson throws an arm around her shoulders that Bo doesn't shrug off, an indescribable pain blooms in Lauren's chest.

It makes her wonder.

* * *

Lauren puts the incident from her mind but can't seem to forget it. Bo certainly doesn't bring it up, and she'd sooner expect Dyson to become a drag queen than say anything to her about it. It was just one moment.

The school term winds down, finally, and before Lauren can find Bo to ask her what she wants to do, the entire school seems to bear down upon her in a massive wave, obscuring any possibility of finding any single person.

She goes home alone.

But she might know Bo less than she thought, because later that evening, Bo comes by.

Lauren first hears the growl of her car engine, sliding into the driveway, and then the sound of footsteps running up to her door to knock. Lauren runs down the stairs and has the door open before Bo gets to the third rap.

"Hey!"

Lauren ignores the fact that it is almost midnight, her parents are asleep, and the only reason she's still awake is a little pathetic (alphabetizing her bookshelf). Bo, on the other hand, is the definition of a night owl, and she looks fresher than she does in the mornings as she bounced impatiently on Lauren's step.

"Bo! What are you doing here, it's the middle of the night! Shh, everyone's asleep already." Lauren steps out, carefully closes and locks the door behind her. Bo grabs her by the arms.

"Are you kidding, we're free! C'mon, we have to go do something. Mark the occasion!"

"I don't know, Bo-"

Bo grins, widely.

"It's been a great year. Coming back to this place was the best thing that ever happened to me, and I wanna celebrate it!"

Bo talks in superlatives, when Lauren has been taught not to. But it's enough to convince her, and she finds herself riding shotgun in Bo's car through the empty streets, feeling like all her life has been leading up to this moment.

They drive for what seems like hours before pulling next to a small creek on abandoned property, that Bo assures her is safe. She carefully maneuvers the Camaro along the dirt path, ignoring the complaints of the engine and the tires. When they come to a stop, Bo climbs over the front window and onto the hood, beckoning Lauren to join her. When Lauren does, she sees a bottle of strawberry wine and two plastic cups, clutched in Bo's hands. Bo grins and pours them both a cupful.

"To us!"

She doesn't drink, has never even given mind to it. She knows what alcohol can do to the body- she's seen it up close and personal. But Lauren takes Bo's offering and chugs the liquid down without a second thought, ignoring the burn as it goes down her throat.

"To us."

Bo smiles delightedly, and reaches out to tangle Lauren's fingers in her own. They drink in silence, listening to the crickets and the still trickle of water.

When the rest of the wine is gone, Bo yawns and stretches like a cat, the movement rippling through her entire body. It's only the beginning of summer, but it's already hot. Hot enough that the only way to deal with it is to sleep through it, and it's approaching one in the morning and Lauren can't keep her eyes open with the wine and the warmth surrounding her.

Bo notices and reaches behind her to make the passenger seat recline, leaving the top open to the air.

"If you're tired, you can sleep."

"Out here, in the open? _In your car_?"

Bo rolls her eyes playfully.

"Haven't you ever done anything you've known wasn't good for you, Doctor?"

Lauren at least remembers to set her phone alarm, so they don't wake up at noon to a search party being called on account of their empty beds.

But later, she turns her head to smile at Bo, whose head is so close to her that Laurens' eyes cross and her vision blurs, trying to focus. But all she can see is blue.

* * *

Lauren receives a letter the next day.

It's her acceptance to the United States's best medical program, designed to give promising international students the opportunity to explore multiple disciplines in an area where they have excelled. She leaves in two weeks, for eight weeks. Cost free.

It's incredibly prestigious, for only the top students worldwide, and makes her a practical shoo-in for any college that she wants.

There's an extra bounce in her step as Lauren waits breathlessly during the days leading up to it. For all her awkwardness in social situations, medicine comes to her easily. It all works so beautifully; the play of sodium and potassium, blood pumping through the atria and the pulmonary circuit, the eternal complexity of DNA replication and mutation. Bodies waste away but she can halt the process. People nearly die on the operating table, but she can bring them back. A harmless virus in the digestive system can, with a tweak, turn an ally into an enemy.

It all appeals her in a very visceral way.

But Bo's reappearance means that medicine, for once, isn't the thing she wants most in the world. She still can't stop seeing Bo's still face the morning after they slept below the stars, more peaceful than Lauren's ever seen her. On the day she's supposed to leave, bags packed and passport in hand, she turns back and sees Bo at the gate with Kenzi and her parents, waving frantically with both arms in goodbye.

It's oddly déjà vu, with their positions reversed, and as Lauren goes through security she silently says a prayer of thanks that she's sure to be coming back.

* * *

When she arrives at the hospital where she's going to be dorming over the summer, the first thing she notices is the silence. For a place where people live and die, there's a lot less commotion than Lauren would have expected, and she stands fidgeting with the other participants, nervous and intimidated.

She's quickly whisked away after that, and her day becomes chaotic as they are ushered from department to department, faculty member to faculty member, and Lauren accumulates more info sheets and name placards than she can count. They eat lunch hurriedly and then its back to the same routine, through the labs and the greenhouse, past racks of glassware and Ph.D students and professors that Lauren recognizes from the pages of medical journals.

She loves it.

But even doctors have to sleep some time, and at the end of the day she's exhausted, fumbling around with the key she's been given to her room. That's when suddenly, out of nowhere, a tall, dark haired woman comes running around the corner and crashes full speed into Lauren. Books go flying and so does Lauren, while the girl (who takes the worst of the collision but was more prepared) scrambles to help her up. Lauren grasps her hand and finds herself staring into a pair of concerned hazel eyes.

"Oh, shoot, sorry! I didn't know there was another room around the corner!"

She sees Lauren's name tag and leans in close.

"Hey, are you a high school intern too?"

Lauren is too startled to speak, and only manages a nod.

The girl grins- she has a beautiful smile- and sticks out a hand for Lauren to shake.

"I'm Nadia."

* * *

That summer, the doctors and professors teach her everything about the human body, but Nadia teaches her something else.

It starts with a kiss, after her and Lauren's sample suture on pig tissue is declared nearly professional by the head of surgery. Flush with the praise, they head back to the supply closet to return the equipment and Nadia has to press incredibly close to her so that they both fit, which leads to a laughing attack and a disheveled Nadia lying on the floor, Lauren almost on top of her.

Between her gasps of laughter Lauren sees Nadia's eyes burn with intent, moving closer, her hands coming up to cup Lauren's chin. She gives Lauren plenty of time to move away.

Lauren doesn't.

And that's how it begins.

Nadia is confident and a year older and a million times more experienced than any person Lauren's ever met. Lauren learns where and how to touch, how to use her tongue and her hands and her hips in ways that defy medical knowledge of pleasure receptors. She learns that sex isn't the best thing about being with women, that having someone to innately connect to is a revelation. She learns that she is definitely, _definitely_ gay.

They're not girlfriends; Nadia lives too far away and they have different plans for their lives for this to be a romance. But Nadia is in some ways even better, kinder than if it was. And Lauren has no reason to stop being honest with her.

One night, close to the end of their time together, she sneaks into Nadia's room. When they lay together on the tangled bedsheets, panting, Nadia turns over and takes her hand. The room is silent expect for their breathing and the ticking of the clock.

"You're thinking."

"Of course. I'm always thinking." Lauren smiles a little before shyly turning away from Nadia's gaze.

"I know that, don't make me beg. What are you thinking about?"

"We're leaving tomorrow."

"I know."

Nadia sighs and drops Lauren's hand back on her chest.

"Hey, let me show you something."

She reaches over Lauren's body, breaking out into giggles when Lauren squirms under her and wraps an arm around her waist, but re-emerges from under the bed with a Nikon camera. Intrigued, Lauren sits up, rearranging the covers around her body before flipping through the pictures.

A jungle. Rudimentary shelters, basic camping equipment, people lying on tarps and in makeshift hospital tents. The shots are dramatic and stark, yet respectful, and Lauren flips faster.

"Nadia, these are amazing. Where did you go?"

"The Congo. My parents are both microbiologists, and they were investigating a new microbe that seemed to only be targeting a certain indigenous group down there. I got to tag along and, well, everyone else had a more important responsibility."

Lauren gapes.

"They let you go into a hot zone? You could have _died_."

Nadia smiles.

"Well, some things are worth the risk. That's the project that brought me here, and shaped what we both want to do. Most important experience I've ever had."

"You're brave. I mean, you might be the bravest person I've ever met." Lauren says.

"Being brave- it's not just about facing danger and the unknown, Lauren. It just means taking a chance, even if there's a chance you get hurt."

Lauren shifts, uncomfortable. The extra-wide twin bed is too small to get any distance away.

"I've always- I mean, I frame things in reality, Nadia. Maybe my survival instinct is too strong, or something, but I don't know how to do that."

Somehow, she's certain they're not talking about the Congo anymore.

Nadia's the only person she tells about Bo. Bo, and her love everyone craves and everyone gets in equal amounts. The problem comes when someone wants more, and Nadia understands that intimately. This conversation is happening because it must.

"A safety net can turn into a barrier if you let it happen."

Lauren falls silent, biting her lip in thought, and Nadia shifts so that they're facing each other.

"Think of it this way. Biology: natural immunity."

"Okay?"

Nadia takes her hand and holds it up in between them.

"Okay. Say you're around someone constantly. They're all you see, all you want, and for a while you understand what it's like to be hurt. But then time passes, memories pile up, and the good one day outweighs the bad. It doesn't mean the subject in question is any less powerful, or devastating. You just get used to it, and eventually the mind and the body don't even flinch."

She curls Lauren's hand into a fist.

"So take that away. Feel it again. Stop settling for what you can get and go after what you want, even if it hurts. You have to start from the bottom to build to the top."

"And what if I can't stop?" Lauren sets the camera down on the nightstand and turns in Nadia's embrace. "Settling, I mean."

"That's natural." Nadia says, reaching down to lay a gentle kiss on her forehead. "You're only human."

* * *

She hugs a tearful Nadia goodbye at the airport terminal, Nadia's phone number and feeling of her touch memorized in Lauren's mind. The flight lasts five hours and Lauren spends none of them asleep, looking out the window at the clouds and remembering the best summer of her life.

Her parents look at her funny all the way home from the airport.

"What?"

"Nothing, darling. You look different, that's all. Did you spend too much time in the sun?"

In the past eight weeks, Lauren can't recall going outside for more than an afternoon at a time. But she knows she's different, fundamentally.

She just doesn't know how yet.

Years later, she'll call Nadia up and thank her for everything she's done, and Nadia will laugh and say Lauren more than returned the favor. In some other life, they might have been in love, but in this one Lauren is grateful just to have found a genuine friend.

Bo jumps on her as soon as she steps into the foyer of her house and whispers, "I missed you," warm and ticklish in her ear, and the pleasure runs through every cell of Lauren's body.

* * *

**AN 2:** Rating moves to M for the next chapter. Hope everyone (including me) makes it through the finale alive!


	3. Chapter 3

**AN**: Rating bumps to M for sexual content.

* * *

The school year arrives with little fanfare, but a lot of planning. There are classes to slack off in and significant others to break up with and chances to take, but Lauren doesn't do any of that. She still has her goals and her dreams to chase, and damned if she's going to let it all slip away at the last minute.

Bo and Kenzi, on the other hand, have a whole itinerary of things they have to do their senior year. The list, on which at least five entries involve fire extinguishers, begins to get ticked off from the very first day. Hale is pretty accommodating, and one day as Lauren's sitting in Econ, bored out of her mind, screaming suddenly erupts from the intercom. As the teacher bolts from the room and she hears Kenzi's maniacal laughter over the crackly static, Lauren sighs and mentally clears her afternoon schedule.

At least it's a distraction.

That afternoon, Lauren waits for Bo and Kenzi to be let out of detention for the day, and sees Bo waving at her through a crack in the blinds. When the clock strikes four-thirty, Bo is the first one out of the room. Kenzi says goodbye and tucks her arm into Hale's, and then it's just Lauren and Bo, walking to her car. Their hands swing by their side but never brush, and neither one of them says a word until Bo signs and stops Lauren from unlocking the door.

"You're not saying anything."

Lauren shrugs.

"I can't say I understand why you do it. I don't get the appeal of- well, of wreaking havoc on the school. What did the poor principal ever do to you?"

"He didn't do anything, it's just what he represents. I think you should live life to the fullest, you know? Experience everything the world has to offer, discover yourself! Not be stuck in a classroom all day." Bo raises her eyebrows and does jazz hands while Lauren looks on.

"And fullest means filling the principal's office with extinguisher foam?" Lauren raises an eyebrow. "I mean, you could have at least ducked the cameras."

Bo sighs and slaps her hand down on the hood.

"Argh, I know, amateur mistake. Kenzi thought she timed them right but the night guard was running late. He turned them on an hour late and boom!- Caught."

She's so pleased with herself that Lauren smiles in genuine happiness.

"It was pretty funny."

Bo laughs.

"It was hilarious. Did you see his face when he realized what had happened? God, I thought his head was going to explode."

Lauren just shakes her head and makes a resolution to find a dissolving agent for extinguisher foam.

* * *

Sometime before homecoming, Kenzi drags her to her first house party, under the excuse that Lauren has to "pop your party cherry before college goes apeshit on your ass, you poor little lamb".

They walk, because Lauren is unwilling to leave her car unattended at a party and they don't need Kenzi getting caught boosting one again. The lawn is already littered with red Solo cups when they arrive, music is blaring at a decibel sure to give them hearing damage. People are spilling out of every door and window, shoving and laughing and yelling in each other's ears, and Kenzi beams and opens her arms- _these are my people_- while Lauren nearly turns on her heel.

"Where do you think you're going?" She curses under her breath when Kenzi spots her trying to slip away and grabs her by the arm. For a girl who is half Lauren's size, she's damn strong.

"Kenzi, this really isn't what I'm used to-"

Lauren jumps back when an arriving car speeds past them in the street. The occupants park noisily and enter the already-packed house.

"Exactly, doc, you need to get yourself out there, dance, make love, let loose! Nerd in the streets, freak in the sheets, _what_!"

Kenzi has clearly pre-partied already, which means she's buzzed and Lauren loses her within three minutes of getting dragged into the house. It's exactly as Lauren imagined: too many people, too many voices, too many reckless decisions to contemplate. As if to complete the stereotype, she's never seen so much alcohol in her life.

There's something to be said for it, though. The sexual energy in the room is evident, restless teenagers occupying a limited space, and even Lauren's skin heats up as the rhythm of the music and the friction of moving bodies. It's messy and incoherent and pulsing with life. Kenzi's voice vaguely floats over the cacophony, to be followed by raucous cheering a second later. Still, it's not enough to take her mind off the intense discomfort at being here, and Lauren can't let herself get lost in it. Not yet.

The TV is tuned to some hockey match and after a half-hour of watching it, Lauren's about to fall asleep, she's so bored. Leaning against the counter, she takes a sip from a bottle of beer and taps her fingers against the side of the cabinets. No one looks even moderately interested in her presence, nor she in theirs. She turns her head away from the game.

That's when she sees it.

Bo and Dyson, pressed against the opposite wall. His hands are on her waist and hers are cupping his face. They're kissing like the rest of the world doesn't exist. The summer, apparently, has changed things.

A roiling wave of nausea suddenly turns her stomach. She's going to be sick.

Lauren turns away, dropping her still-full cup in the garbage and pushing through the crowd until she's back out the door. She stares forward at the manicured lawn, the mailbox, the passed out senior on the sidewalk, but she can't see anything except for Bo…and Dyson. A wave of pain starts in her chest and pulses its way down her torso, dissipating just in time for another wave to hit. Lauren grabs hold of the mailbox and just waits for it to pass, her head tilted to the sky and the world spinning around her. Every bit of her medical knowledge is telling her that it isn't possible, that psychosomatic symptoms aren't doing any permanent damage to her body.

It sure as hell doesn't feel like that.

She walks home alone.

* * *

She should have seen this coming.

God, she should have seen this coming.

Doctors aren't supposed to ignore preliminary signs of sickness, they're supposed to keep an eye out for them and note them for later. Be prepared. And somehow, when Lauren took her eyes off the ball that was Bo, it flew past her before she could blink. Strike three, you lose.

Her mind reels with the lost opportunity, and she curses herself for getting it wrong, for believing that Bo could remain single for so long. That she would wait for a sign, something from Lauren that would show how much she mattered.

It's such a cliché, but Lauren thinks that she actually feels her heart breaking.

But if there's one thing she's good at, it's numbness. Push it all down, don't let it process, don't let it in.

_Bo and Dy_- stop. Breathe. Think of something else.

There's no way she's getting to sleep now, not in her current state of mind, so Lauren falls into the same steady pattern that she always does: work. Her hands move to her desk and open a medical textbook. The words on the page are comforting, distracting from the stone bearing down on her chest, and she welcomes the oblivion of words and diagrams. It's easy.

As her heart rate slows and she relaxes into the flow, letting it over her like water. Seconds, minutes, maybe hours go by, she doesn't know. But her reverie is broken from a knocking at the window.

"Lauren! Pssst, hey! Lauren!"

It's Bo.

Lauren's heart gives a tremendous leap and she scrambles to the window, unlocking it and helping Bo inside. She smells like a distillery, basically, but still has enough coordination to rugby tackle Lauren as soon as her feet hit the carpet, driving them both backwards and onto the bed. Lauren yelps in surprise as her back hits the mattress and Bo's full weight presses down on her.

"Lauren Lewis!"

Bo smiles down at her, carefree and abnormally loud in her glee. The darkness obscures most of her face but Lauren can still see the blue illuminated in the dim light.

_Don't process._

Lauren slips into doctor mode effortlessly, disentangles herself from the mess of Bo's limbs and puts a hand along the side of her face, checking for concussion or head injury. There doesn't seem to have been an impact, but Bo's pupils are dilated and she's giggling again, like a toddler with a new toy.

"Hi, doctor!"

"Ok, Bo, how much have you had to drink?"

Bo shrugs, pulling out a small flask and emptying it before flopping, boots and all, back onto Lauren's bed. Lauren quickly takes back the metal container and tosses it into the laundry basket, out of Bo's reach. Bo makes a halfhearted grab for her and falls back onto the pillows with an oomph. She catches sight of Lauren's textbook on the table.

"Not enough! You're studying! Really, Lauren?"

"Hey-you shush. And hold on, let me get you some water." Lauren makes sure Bo is on her side and runs down to the kitchen and quickly fills a cup, her mind barreling through the list of what's potentially wrong with Bo. Alcohol poisoning is an issue. So are drugs, if Bo wasn't careful at the party and didn't watch her drinks. Maybe they need to go to a hospital.

She runs back up, hands Bo the cup and urges it to her mouth.

Bo obediently swallows, but after the water is gone she just laughs and waves a hand in Lauren's direction, catching a few strands of blonde hair in the process. Lauren swallows hard at the feeling of Bo playing with her hair, her dark brown eyes trained on Lauren's lighter ones. Bo smiles dreamily.

"You have little specks in your eyes that look like stars."

Lauren turns away. Bo's clearly out of it.

"You're drunk, Bo."

"I know."

"You actually don't, because if you did you wouldn't still be drinking." Lauren snaps. "God, I don't even know how high your blood alcohol level is-"

"No, I mean I _know_. Lauren, stop."

Lauren freezes.

"I know the way you look at the girls at school. I know the way you look at me. Believe me, I'm completely cool with it-"she smiles this enthusiastic smirk, "and I think we could explore that. If you're up for it."

The stabbing pain begins anew in Lauren's heart and she doesn't even bother to consider it before her conscience lashes out and her hands push her body away from Bo. The woman's face falls immediately, but even that doesn't stop Lauren from moving off the bed and as far away as possible. She doesn't pause until her lower back brushes against the desk.

"No, Bo, you're with Dyson. And you're not thinking straight because alcohol impairs judgment and perception and you're going to do something you regret."

"Would you stop? I'm not that drunk, and I'm not having problems with my judgment." Bo says, and rises up off the bed. Lauren shuffles back, apprehensive, but there is a sudden clarity in Bo's voice that draws her immediate attention. How did she manage to go from drunk to sober in two seconds? "I'm here because I want to be here, not because I don't know what I'm doing. And for your information, I'm not with Dyson."

Lauren scoffs, a bitter, angry sound that she doesn't recognize- she turns around and presses her fists to the wood of her desk, shoulders sagging with the weight of what she's keeping in.

"I saw you kiss him. At the party. What, are you going to tell me I didn't see that?"

She reminds herself that she doesn't have a claim to Bo. That she has no right to be jealous, not when Dyson has already taken what she was too scared to take for herself. She reminds herself of this over and over, but that doesn't make her want Bo any less.

She feel's Bo's presence moving behind her, can see the shadow fall over her in waves and then Bo's warmth floods her proximity, the weight of her hands coming to rest on the curves of her hips. Lauren knows she should move, that every second that she's around Bo means another crack in her defense, but Bo's lips come to rest beside her ear and Lauren can't help but lean back into Bo, pressing harder into the solid softness of the woman, all around her.

"Dyson's just- he's always there, and he's always…simple. I'm attracted to him but it's not like we're ever going to be more than friends, I swear. He's fun to be around but he's not you."

"And who am I?" Lauren demands, turning her head to look Bo dead in the eyes.

Bo just looks at her, confused. She leans forward, so her breath washes over Lauren's face, and touches the corner of Lauren's brow. Her eyes are clear and steady.

"You're Lauren."

Lauren kisses her out of relief more than anything else.

She turns around in the circle of Bo's arms and pulls her in, their lips colliding with a force that draws a gasp out of both of them. Bo's mouth tastes like whiskey and something bitter, hot and unforgiving, and Lauren never wants to taste anything else her entire life. They kiss without pause for breath until Lauren's instinct kicks in and she breaks away, only to gently tilt Bo's head back. Lauren leans back and admires Bo for a moment, before trailing wet kisses down the flawless skin of Bo's neck.

She has no idea what is happening. She has no idea what she's doing. All she can feel is hungry- for Bo's touch, her mouth, her skin. Everything that has been building up for years and has now roared into the open. Lauren wants to pin her down and ravish every inch of her.

But Bo never does anything submissively, and this turns out to be no exception. With a growl she breaks away and backs Lauren up against the wall until her ass smacks against the wallpaper, grasping her hips until the pressure makes Lauren cry out.

"Bo-!"

Bo smiles and captures her lips again, sucking, and her hands traveling over Lauren's body like she owns it. She slides her hands under Lauren's shirt and groans at the feeling of bare skin.

"Wait, wait-"

Bo breaks away immediately.

"What is it, what's wrong?"

The concern in her voice is evident, and melts Lauren's panic into nothing. But her rationality (and her doubt) still nags ceaselessly at her mind.

"I'm not- I don't want this if you're just drunk and wanting someone to be with. I won't do it, Bo."

Bo's next words, whispered into her ear as they sway there in the dark, bring a ray of hope into Lauren's darkened world.

"I already told you: you're the one I want to be with."

They kiss again, gentler, but with a barely-contained passion that makes Lauren's head spin with the possibilities. Bo nibbles at the curve of her shoulder and plucks at the fabric in her way.

"Take this off."

So comes the whispered command, and Lauren doesn't think before pulling the shirt over her head and flinging it away. Bo does the same. Skin against skin makes Lauren gasp because Bo is burning hot, impossibly soft and wet. Lauren is about to come right there, when Bo tugs down the cup of her bra to suck on one of Lauren's nipples, taking the entire breast in her hand , rolling the tightening bud around her tongue like candy. Her hips jerk uncontrollably as she brings a hand to grasp the back of Bo's head, urging her on and on.

"God, Bo. Please-"

"Shh."

She feels Bo smile against her breast. She all but tears the bra off Lauren's shoulders, almost snarling when Lauren tries to push them away from the wall. She manages an inch before Bo slams her back again.

A hand reaches past her zipper and into her jeans.

She's about to come, she's never been so close. Just from dry-humping Bo against her wall, just from Bo's lips on her nipples, just from the smell of her and the fingers touching her outside her underwear. Her stamina may not be much, but Bo doesn't seem to care. After Lauren first starts shuddering she eagerly drops to her knees, yanking Lauren's jeans and underwear to her ankles before pressing her face to her thighs. The warmth of Bo's hands sliding down her legs nearly makes Lauren's knees buckle.

"Hmm, Lauren-"

Bo's gaze on her core, opening her to the air with one hand, marveling. Lauren is sticky with arousal, she knows it, can feel Bo teasing the wetness between her lips, smearing it across her tongue.

Of course Bo is a tease.

Lauren fights not to grind her hips into Bo's face, but when Bo's hands press into her ass and she feels the unspoken command to just let go, she loses all semblance of control and bucks hard, crying out at Bo's tongue gliding over her clit.

"Bo!" Lauren groans again. There are no words in her mind other than Bo's name and a white buzz that drowns out everything except this.

Bo smiles against her center, bringing two fingers to sink deeply into Lauren as she begins to thrust, still not removing her tongue from Lauren's clit. Lauren turns her head to the side and bites down on her hand, willing herself not to scream. Her orgasm crashes over her an instant later, but Bo doesn't still her hand until Lauren stops shuddering with the aftershock, riding it for every drop Lauren can give.

She comes down slowly, so slowly, and dimly is made aware of Bo's kisses back up her body. Lauren's breath runs ragged for long minutes, tightly pressed together to savor the last moments of Bo's closeness. She is almost naked, her pants around her ankles, and Bo is still wearing hers.

Bo sucks gently on her shoulder and a fierce desire to please awakens anew in Lauren. She was always one for reciprocation.

She pushes Bo back onto the bed with uncommon force and straddles her, smearing wetness across her stomach. It's never felt like this before, not even with Nadia, and Bo grins in delight, throwing her head back when Lauren touches her, finally, and her fingers journey across the expanse of skin. Two fingers enter Bo so easily, she's so wet, and Bo arches up to her as the first thrust steals her breath away. Lauren takes advantage, her mouth capturing the breasts that suddenly come within reach, and the way Bo trembles at the first brush of her tongue makes her do it again, and again, and again.

She begins to thrust harder and faster, forward and up, her entire body moving with the effort of making Bo feel good. Bo moves in unison, grabbing Lauren to her so there is no space between their bodies. The heat grows unbearably until everything in Lauren's universe is Bo, and they are wet and glorious and Lauren succumbs completely to the endless pleasure coursing through her body.

Bo comes like she does everything else; loudly, and without restraint. She's gorgeous, writhing under Lauren's touch, and Lauren has never felt more powerful in her life than when Bo collapses back against the mattress, pressing an exhausted kiss to her neck, mumbling "wow-" weakly into Lauren's skin.

She falls asleep almost immediately afterwards, still half-wrapped around her, and Lauren turns her on her side again, just in case. Dark hair spills over defined shoulderblades, rising and falling like clockwork, and she stares at every delicate birthmark and crease and plane of Bo in her bed. Memorizing. She wants to take it to her grave, this moment.

But Bo has exhausted her, so Lauren settles for a small kiss to Bo's nape before her eyes close of their own accord.

* * *

Lauren wakes up naked and tucked into her blankets, sore as hell and with fresh bruises on her neck, her shoulders, her thighs. A momentary wave of panic overwhelms her when she reaches over and feels nothing but cool sheets. Then her hands hit paper and she struggles up to read Bo's note, pushing her unruly hair back from her eyes.

_I gotta go, Lo, my parents are looking for me. Thank you for last night- you were so amazing. You always are._

When Lauren stumbles to the kitchen a half-hour later, she discovers Bo has made coffee and left a single folded-paper rose on the counter, placed upright on her empty flask.

She smiles and wraps her arms around herself.

Somehow, it feels like she's won.

* * *

Nothing really changes, except Bo sometimes greets her with a kiss in the mornings, driving by her house to give Lauren a ride to school. They don't hold hands in the hallways or take each other to homecoming, but Bo spends more and more time with her, and its clear that Lauren has a special place in Bo's heart.

Bo's also not sleeping with Dyson anymore, from what Kenzi's telling her. The information fed from Hale is confirmed when Dyson storms into class one day with a face like thunder, refusing to talk to anyone. He's not a bad guy- he doesn't try to exact revenge on her or anything- but the frustration and the heartbreak in his eyes is evident.

Lauren almost feels sorry for him.

Almost.

But she has Bo more than anyone has Bo. She has Bo's early mornings and Sunday afternoons, and occasionally her nights. She has her sleepy smile at dawn and her wicked grin at twilight, and even the boring days of helping Bo with her homework and seeing Bo at her job at the local supermarket seems like moments of paradise. Knowing that Bo is happiest when she's with her keeps Lauren up at night, smiling into her pillow. It's the greatest feeling. Lauren thinks that she can conquer the world, now, with Bo at her side.

With all that, it's hard to wish that anything was different.

Later, she'll look back and search for a word to describe her life then, and only one comes to mind: hope.

* * *

For her birthday that year, Lauren gets Bo a full-workup on her Camaro.

On Lauren's birthday, Bo takes her to the same place they spent their first day of summer, by the creek, and drags her into the backseat.

* * *

She's watching Bo give a presentation about the government of Nigeria to their shared Comparative Government class and catches Kenzi staring at her.

"What?" Lauren asks. Her pencil, which has been doodling endless circles instead of taking notes, stops. Kenzi gives her that unreadable look again, but as Lauren holds her gaze Kenzi raises her hands in defeat.

"Excuse my eyeballs. It's nothing, doc."

* * *

The first indication she gets that something is up comes a month before graduation.

They're at the abandoned docks, watching the seagulls waddle along the concrete pier and dive in the bay. Lauren is valedictorian for their year, and is practicing her speech to an obviously bored but still attentive Bo.

"…and so, as we step out of childhood and onto the terra incognita of adulthood, we'll begin to make the difficult choices. The ones that will set our futures in motion, that will lead us to success in every area of our lives-"

"Wait-" Bo sits up from where she was lying on the grass. "That's not right."

Lauren looks down at her paper and squints.

"What do you mean, this is exactly what I wrote down-"

Bo shakes her head.

"No, I mean that's not true. Not everyone needs to have everything in their lives planned out. You don't need to be an adult right away."

"Well, yeah, that's what college is for." Lauren reasons. "You get your crazy years out of the way but everyone's got to have some sort of goal, Bo. Something to work towards. A commitment."

Bo throws her hands up and blows air through her mouth, her eyebrows set in a frown.

"God, Lauren, you make it sound like you stop enjoying your life after you graduate. That's not true. You're still finding yourself after your twenties, your thirties- I don't care. I'm going to experience this for as long as I can, and no one's going to stop me."

"No one's trying to stop you. God, you'd think I'm trying to enslave you to something. This isn't just about you."

"Well, people like me aren't included in your life plan, then? We aren't really adults if we don't just sit down and shut up and push paper for the rest of our lives? If we don't go to college and get the condo and the picket fence and the 2.5 kids?"

Lauren sets down her paper.

"That's not what I- I just want you to have a plan for your future, Bo. That's all, I swear."

"It sure doesn't sound like it!"

"Well, what does it sound like, then?"

They're actually arguing now, Lauren up and raging with the sea at her back. Bo stands up too.

"It sounds like complete crap. Plans- my parents want me to be like you, have a life just like everyone else. Guess what, that's not what I want! I'm not going ever be the person who can be satisfied with that. I have to live the life I choose."

"Why can't you live that life by staying in one place? By preparation, by following the rules?"

"Because I'm not like you, Lauren!"

Lauren is speechless.

"I can't- I can't be like you, knowing what I want. I don't want to pin myself down yet. I can't." Her voice has suddenly turned hollow, pleading. "It'll strangle me, Lauren."

Lauren's face falls as Bo turns her back, walking down the length of the pier with her hands folded on top of her head.

They're on different wavelengths now, she realizes with growing dread. She doesn't know whether Bo can't stand a life pinned down to a place, or a career, or if its because just can't commit herself to Lauren. Just can't let herself stay with one person for her entire life, because that's all Lauren will be satisfied with.

But she sure as hell isn't going to ask.

When Bo cools down and returns, her eyes apologetic, Lauren just takes her free hand.

They don't say anything.

* * *

It's the day of their graduation.

"You two idiots better stop or I'm going AWOL on your asses!" Kenzi yells, hands on her hips and camera gripped tightly in her hand. "And I'm warning you, that shit isn't pretty!"

Dyson and Hale quit hitting each other with their graduation cords and pull themselves to attention. Bo and Lauren watch them and laugh, and Lauren closes her eyes to take a deep breath of the early summer air. Bo reaches over to take her hand.

"I'm so proud of you." Bo whispers in her ear, her nose buried in Lauren's hair. She pulls back and smiles, reaching out to fix the honor cords hanging off Lauren's graduation cap. Lauren leans in but the square headwear gets in the way, making them both break out into laughter before Bo tilts her own up and ducks under Lauren's to capture her lips in a short, sweet kiss.

"When you're Doctor Lewis, I swear I'm going to be your first patient."

"You don't go to a doctor if you're not sick, Bo."

A flash of sadness appears in Bo's eyes before they are taken over by her usual bright blue.

"Then I'll make up something. I'll get some weird disease that no one's ever heard of, and insist that I have to see Doctor Lauren Lewis, no one else. They'll have no choice then."

Lauren squeezes her hand.

They go to their graduation and Bo shouts the loudest when Lauren goes up to take the diploma and the microphone, making the speech that she and Bo rehearsed together. Bo's eyes don't leave her for the entirety of the time she's talking, and when Lauren ends with a smile Bo presses her hand to her lips and blows Lauren a kiss.

Her hands hidden amongst the folds of her gown, Lauren catches it.

The principal gives the signal and Lauren is the first to whip off her hat and throw it up into the air, and sees the wave of caps soar up in response, like a waterfall flowing backwards. She loses sight of Bo then, and between the handshakes and interviews with local TV, it's a full hour before Bo crosses her mind again.

She's too late.

* * *

Bo is gone. Again.

Her parents confirm it, when Lauren, Kenzi, Dyson, and Hale rush to her house in a panic. The stern face of Bo's father greets them, confirming that yes, Bo has left, with all her possessions in the trunk of the Camaro, heading out to find her long-lost grandfather.

Not one of them knew that Bo even had grandparents.

Lauren realizes she never asked the right questions.

Bo's father isn't exactly a peach, and they have to hold Dyson back from attacking him when he speaks of Bo with derision in his tone and a hand firmly on the doorframe. They argue for a few moments before he threatens to call the police, and they're forced to retreat.

As they stand on Bo's street, at a loss for what to do, Kenzi breaks down sobbing and Dyson punches the Dennis's mailbox.

Lauren does nothing.

Later, after what seems like a million texts and calls, Bo sends out a mass text to all of them, telling her that she's on her grandfather's trail and she's fine and can take care of herself, and not to worry. That she has her reasons and she wishes them all well, and will talk to them again.

It doesn't take a genius to figure out what happened, and Hale looks at her with pity, so much pity that she avoids him like the plague for weeks. Dyson broods for a week before he disappears too, packing everything into his truck and taking off for the last location Bo was heard from. Somewhere in the States.

And dammit, it shouldn't hurt this badly. It shouldn't make Lauren's chest constrict and her fingers grasp at anything solid, and it shouldn't make her stay out for hours at night just so she can avoid her room, a room that still probably has some of Bo lingering in it.

She knows that Bo to grow, to start discovering herself. And maybe Dyson, who is almost as limitless in his freedom as Bo is, can help her with that. Maybe her grandfather can.

It doesn't make it hurt less. All that matters is that Lauren can't.

Her broken heart doesn't let her go, not even after Kenzi shows up, apologetic, with tear stains on her face. Lauren invites her in but Kenzi declines. She tells Lauren that the whole thing "sucks ass" and leaves her with a copy of Kill Bill and a plastic baggie full of weed.

Bo isn't known for being particularly good with a phone- answering it, or keeping it intact, really. Each of Lauren's half-hundred calls go straight to voicemail, and it's almost too painful to hear Bo's innocent, sweet voice coming from the other end of the line. At some point she calls, holding her breath painfully in her lungs, and hears the mechanized voice tell her that the number is out of service.

Lauren wonders if the phone is at the bottom of an ocean, or the top of a mountain, or simply got left on the top of some bar somewhere in Podunk, Nowhere.

It doesn't matter.

* * *

Kenzi is the first person she tells.

They've taken to hanging out regularly, after that moment and during the summer before they head to different colleges, Lauren to an early medical school acceptance program and Kenzi to some tech-wiz school that actually appreciates seldom-legal computer hackers. Somehow, being around Bo's other best friend lessens the pain of losing her, as if Bo left a cupful of grief behind for Lauren to drink, and mixing it with Kenzi's own dilutes the bitterness until she can tolerate it. It helps that Kenzi and Bo were thick as thieves, and that she's already promised to contact Lauren if Bo ever resurfaces.

The conversation this time begins with Hale and his political ambitions, and somehow (through Kenzi's off-the-wall interjections) transforms into Lauren blurting out those words that she's been wanting to say for years.

Kenzi, to her credit, only smiles indulgently before swinging her legs over the hood of the car they're sitting on.

"I knew you and Bo were doing the horizontal tango for months, Lo. Was wondering when you were going to come out with it, but I guess she left before you had a chance. Sucks, but you'll find another heart to lurve, Hotpants. Promise you."

"It isn't like that. We weren't really together- she didn't-" Lauren babbles, her hands clenching tightly in her lap. Kenzi shakes her head.

"Just because you didn't say it doesn't mean it wasn't true."

Tears spring to Lauren's eyes, and for once, Kenzi doesn't tease her for it. Instead, she pulls her into a hug- the first one they've ever shared- and pats her on the head like a puppy.

"Ain't no big thing. Just keep your heart and your vag separate until you find someone to bring it all together, yeah?"

* * *

When Lauren turns eighteen, she tells her mother.

College orientation is in a few weeks, and it feels like something she needs to do. To cleanse her soul, break the bonds of adulthood. Whatever.

When her mother sits down at the kitchen table, Lauren's stomach turns to see her bright, expectant smile. Usually this kitchen table is reserved for straight-A announcements and the opening of college admissions letters and practice job interviews that Lauren blows out of the water. This table has seen nothing but happy times, and Lauren is about to ruin it all.

She barely makes it through the first two words- _I'm sorry_- before her mother's face pales. As Lauren stutters out the words "gay" and "nobody's fault and "it's just who I am", the older Lewis closes her eyes and buries her face in her hands, unable to speak.

Lauren's tears start to fall even before her mother says her first words after the fact, ten minutes later.

"Don't tell your father." She whispers. "He doesn't-he won't know how to handle it. Even I'm not sure- how could this have happened-"

"I can't help it, mom." Lauren chokes out, resigned. "This will never change. I need you to know that. I'm not going to be the person you expected, but I can't be anything else."

"Lauren, honey-"

"Don't you want me to be who I am?"

"I want you to be happy." Her mother says, rubbing her eyes wearily. "But-"

Lauren doesn't need to hear any more, and she leaves her mother there before going to her room to pack away the last remnants of her childhood.

Her childhood, and Bo.

* * *

AN2: These chapters just keep getting longer, but they should even out in length soon as I work on pacing. Tamsin makes her entrance in the next chapter, which will hopefully come quicker. And we're not done with Bo yet by a long shot. Thanks for waiting so patiently, guys, and for your feedback. Always darkest before the dawn.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: Zoie Palmer is extraordinary. That is all.**

* * *

Tamsin doesn't know what the hell she's doing.

Her colleagues say she's reckless. After the Anderson homicide they say no one will ride with her anymore, that she has a death wish no one wants to get caught up in. Yeah, she'd tackled a guy with a gun, so what? His fingers were far too high on the grip, where they were bound to get sliced by the back of the slide if the gun fired; clearly he had no experience with small arms. Tamsin's been taught to "protect and serve" at all costs and there was a child's life at stake.

They'd lost two others by mere hours, finding bodies still warm and bruises still fresh, flung like trash into the deepest, darkest corners of the city where humanity itself shrank from entering. The burden of their failure hung around the precinct for weeks, almost stronger than the ever-present formaldehyde from their visits to the morgue. Tamsin wasn't about to lose another one. She wasn't going to fail in her duty again.

Apparently, they (meaning the police force minus her) had it under control before she made the split-second decision to go in. So Tamsin, after being tearfully thanked by the child's mother, is simultaneously congratulated, chewed out, and relegated to desk duty for the next month.

Fucking hell.

She's hailed as a selfless hero by the media covering the case, but privately, she knows that her fellow officers look at her differently after everything settled down. Like they're scared that she's going to pop one of them in the dead of night for a perceived slight or take a flying leap off the nearest high rise, as if that made any sense at all. Just because they were too cowardly to risk their own skins doesn't mean she's going to do the same. Just because they shared the same badge doesn't mean Tamsin was one of them.

Okay, it was a little unconventional. And dangerous. But that's kind of Tamsin's thing.

The morning after the investigation concludes, her commanding officer calls her into his office. When she swings open the door, shoulders braced in expectation, he pushes his glasses to the top of his head and motions for her to take a seat. Tamsin does, but her mind is elsewhere and it's so easy to tune him out that Tamsin does it effortlessly. Besides, it's the same thing she's gotten for the past week: keep your nose clean, can't afford another mark on your record, you're on thin ice already so don't screw this up. She focuses on everything else; the creaking of her chair, the nubby carpet under her toes, the fluorescent light above her head. Anything to get the incessant drone of his voice out of her mind, and keep down her urge to punch him in the nose.

Tamsin's ears only perk up when the bombshell drops from his lips.

"Excuse me- what?"

"You've been reassigned to CID, effective immediately. They're expecting you next week."

The shock knocks her back into reality.

"But I didn't even apply for transfer-"

He sighs and Tamsin has a vivid fantasy of shoving his tie into his mouth.

"It's happening, Skarsten. This comes from up top, someone important wants you somewhere you can make the most of your talents. That place-" he says, placing a stack of paperwork into her hands, "is in Criminal Investigations. You'll be bumped in the pay scale and receive full benefits of any other detective in the unit."

The top sheet on the stack wafts away and lands on the ground, and Tamsin doesn't bother to pick it up. Instead, she drops the rest of them beside her and leans forward in her chair.

"No, sir, you don't understand. I don't _want_ it." Her hands grip the mahogany of his desk, her voice rising in intensity with each word. Suddenly it feels like there isn't enough air between them, in this little closed-in office, and the more he breathes the less she can. "I get that it's an honor and I appreciate it, sir. But I enjoy where I am now."

"And we enjoy having you here." _Liar._ "You've brought a lot of pride to this division. But you should consider how your career will advance, and I don't mean next week's robbery, or one of a hundred drug busts on 7th Avenue. You'll be working with the big cases here. Calling the shots instead of following them."

Tamsin doesn't stop glaring at him, but shakes her head once, slowly.

"Why me?"

"Well, after the Anderson case, the division considered your actions and thought you were prime material for this." He's looking away from her now, like he's ashamed or embarrassed to have to praise her. It's not only those things, Tamsin knows, it's guilt. "Look, it takes toughness to deal with the kinds of cases Criminal takes. You showed you're capable of dealing with the worst this division has to offer, and you're needed elsewhere for now. Consider it a compliment."

So that was it. She's showed just enough disregard for her own life that they took the choice away from her.

It's not that the CID treats its personnel badly, by any means. In fact, they try a little bit too hard; lots of commendations, overtime pay, and the like. But Tamsin's learned something over the years; the nicer people are, the more they're hiding from you. Or the more they want from you.

She's seen some of the officers who leave the Department, at retirement parties or on the police bulletin board before parade. They are almost instantly recognizable by the blue patches on their jackets, some unintelligible Latin motto stitched on, but even if Tamsin wasn't a cop she could still recognize the looks on their faces. The thousand-yard stare never dissipates from their eyes. She can almost see the gears working furiously in their heads, clearing out exits and letting every doubt sink their claws into their hearts.

These are the people who study the patterns of serial killers and know exactly how to take apart a human body to leave the least amount of trace evidence. The people that go undercover for months or years at a time and stumble their way back, only to find that their families have given up, packed up, and moved on with barely a ripple in their wake. The people that they want Tamsin to join.

Tamsin pushes back from the table with a protest already forming on her lips.

"And if I refuse?"

"You can, of course. But I can't promise you that a chance like this won't come again. And I know you, Skarsten." he cocks his head to the side and studies her with an odd calm. "You can't leave any rock unturned; if there's an opportunity, you take it. I see it in your work, the way you approach every case. You can't deny that."

Fuck him. No, seriously, fuck him, because he can't play that card on Tamsin, not when she's done the things she's done to get here.

Tamsin doesn't let things go. When she has a duty to fulfill, she does it. She has no choice, it's a compulsion that worms under her skin and drives her more than the pay or the thrill ever will.

Call it her gift.

They sit in silence as the ceiling fan whirs abovehead, filling the room with an uncomfortable white noise that makes the headache in Tamsin's temples expand to fill her entire head.

She leans back and contemplates. Breathes while she figures out what to do.

The man opposite from her doesn't seem to be breathing at all, just seems so old and tired, sitting in his chair, and Tamsin is suddenly stricken with fear. Was that going to be her, one day? Would she get so worn down by the thefts and the kidnappings and the murders that she'd be jaded and threatened by everyone around her?

"Sir, I have to think about it."

"You do that. But I wouldn't wait too long."

* * *

The police gym is dank and dark and the door jams more often than not, but it's free and somewhat unused. Tamsin is one of the few to actually frequent the place. When most of your confederates take advantage of the whole "donut-and-coffee" deal at the precinct café, there's a benefit to the solitude that she finds there, sweating her heart out with no one else around.

Today Tamsin just needs it to be quiet. Her day has unexpectedly gone to shit and the voices in her head just won't shut up, whirling with questions and arguments foreign to her consideration. She just wants peace. She craves it.

There's only one locker occupied when Tamsin steps in, and she gratefully ditches her jacket and everything on her person before wrapping her hands up in tape and pulling on a pair of boxing gloves. She walks up to the punching bag, smiling even though no one is around to see it.

"No hard feelings."

The first punch reverberates through her arm like a hit of something strong, and Tamsin bounces on the balls of her feet, eyeing the bag like it's a person, living and reactive and soft. That's the most important, soft, as Tamsin lashes out again, making the bag snap back with a satisfying thud. The chain rattles. She keeps going, punching again and again, faster and faster until the bag doesn't even come to rest before she hits it again. The sweat beads across her brow, trickling into her eyes, but she doesn't stop. Her fists become a dim blur in the middle of her vision as she works out her frustration, slowly and with patience.

It's like therapy; stopping early is sometimes worse than not going at all.

Tamsin has no idea how much time has passed but when she stops to get a breath, it won't come- just a tightening of her throat, a burning that fills her mouth with bile. Despite it all she smiles, before coughing spluttering, and wipes her mouth. That's when the door swings open behind her and footsteps walk slowly across the room.

"Well, well. Who do we have here?"

She doesn't bother to turn around.

"Fuck off, Vex."

He tsks behind her back, and moves into her vision. He's dressed for the gym too, only with pads on his hands instead of gloves. Tamsin glares at him, and raises her hands as if in question. Vex mirrors the movement, and Tamsin begins to hit him, instead, as the heavy lining on his hands absorb her blows.

If only she could hit him for real.

"See darling, I can't do that. Not when one of my prize protégées is finally making her way into the real world, hmm? Criminal is the big leagues. You're truly one of us now, love."

They're not friends, not even close, but it's easy to feel familiar with someone when you're cut from the same ruthless, ragged cloth. Vex works interrogations (typical) and has a reputation of doing whatever necessary to get the information he needs. Like wringing water from a sponge, and like Tamsin: he doesn't stop until every last drop has drained from the job.

"Look, I'm not really in the mood to talk. Can you just sit still, look pretty, and let me pretend to beat you up?" Tamsin growls.

"At least part of that sentence was correct; I am far more attractive than you can ever hope to be." Vex shakes his head. "What I'm wondering is why you're here, of all places. You realize your shift ended two hours ago."

Tamsin says nothing, only continues to pound away at his gloves until his arms falls to his sides and he steps back, breathing hard.

You-" he gasps out, "-need to get laid, dearie. Immediately. It's not healthy to keep all of that inside."

Tamsin throws a particularly vicious punch towards his gut and he jumps back, missing by an inch and wheezing in laughter. She turns her back and stalks out of the gym, throwing a towel over her shoulder. Vex calls out after her.

"Now, where are you going? Aren't you going to return the favor?"

"Keep dreaming, Vex." Tamsin yells back.

She needs air. When she collects her things, checks her shifts, and heads for her car, the evening has descended and she can finally breathe.

It's not because of money.

She's paid well, for an officer four years past the academy, and with the salary bump that comes with detective status she's not rolling in dough but it's more than enough to get by. But she deposits her paycheck every month with no intention of spending it on anyone but herself, and even then her greatest pleasure in life is getting to spend an extra twenty dollars for top-notch whiskey instead of the watered-down shit she usually buys.

It sounds more pathetic than it is.

No, it's not because of money.

It's because there's a little park that runs right through the city, encircled by a running path and lined with cherry trees. It's peaceful in the early mornings, when she goes for a run, before the dog owners and the busking artists set up shop along her route. One day, just like every day, Tamsin clips her badge to one side of her belt and her iPod to the other, putting on something loud and bass-heavy so she can't think, and tells her legs to move. Simple as that.

Tamsin doesn't realize that the music isn't working until she's talking to herself under her breath, doubtless drawing strange looks from the people around her. She doesn't care. The pavement moves smoothly under her feet as she stares down at it, lips moving at the same pace.

"You just have to get through it. Just get through it. Come on. Come on. Come on."

Suddenly-

A brief breeze and a gasp of surprise are the only warnings she gets before she hits a human barrier and is knocked, stumbling, off the sidewalk. Her hand immediately goes to her hip, where her holster usually sits, but of course the gun is missing- she's off duty, and anyway it wouldn't be loaded. The motion instead knocks her badge loose and it falls to the sidewalk, rolling to a stop in the gutter.

God, the last thing she needs is to start getting trigger happy.

Tamsin snatches her hand away and looks up with a snarl, ready to rip the head off whoever just broke her reverie. A pair of bright hazel eyes, enormous in their innocence, greet her as the other woman scrambles to her feet. They're beautiful- _she's _beautiful- but it's not only that; she looks at Tamsin, not with pity but with concern, and Tamsin's throat tightens when she considers the last time someone looked at her with anything other than fear, or contempt, or lust.

She's can't remember.

And here's this stranger, who is now grabbing her badge and wiping it off on a towel she has draped over her shoulder, presenting it to her with that damn concern still painted on her face. Tamsin's eyes linger over the stranger's eyes for another brief moment before tearing herself away. It's too much and not enough.

"Sorry about that."

Her voice does nothing to calm Tamsin's nerves- she sounds like she's speaking to a friend, warm and friendly but concerned, and that, for some reason, makes her skin crawl. It's such a small thing- a miniscule thing, a stupid fucking apology that Tamsin's not enough sure she deserves, and suddenly Tamsin is pissed. Because this shouldn't be a thing. Why is she making this a thing?

"Just-watch where you're fucking going, okay?" Tamsin finally snaps, her heart nearly thudding out of her chest as she turns on her heel and walks away, grabbing her badge out of the woman's hand without touching skin.

Tamsin realizes that she's been thinking too much. Talking to oneself out loud is generally seen as a sign of mental instability. Having that kind of reaction to someone- a stranger, _in public_- is even worse.

She blames it on lightheadedness when she makes the rash, impulsive decision.

She'll get a roommate. Someone unassuming, unobnoxious, but someone that she could talk to every now and again. Just someone to remind Tamsin what genuine human interaction meant, and to keep her from going fucking crazy.

Hopefully.

* * *

Four years past high school, Lauren has learned three things:

One, if she's going to toot her own horn, there are few people on earth who have the mental capacity she does.

Two, she prefers a good glass of Merlot to any hard alcohol on the market, and that fact isn't conducive to making friends in college.

Three, this may be most monotonous existence she can imagine.

Lauren peels the latex gloves from her fingers, wincing at the whiteness it leaves on her fingers (damn powder never comes off) and snapping on a fresh pair before turning back to her station. The micropipette is steady in her hand, enters the well with precision, and she turns back to the rack of test tubes beside her with a perfect sample in hand.

There's a certain satisfaction to doing a job well, even the most repetitive of jobs, and Lauren allows herself a smile of pride before moving on to the next one. Transferring samples takes very little brainpower, and Lauren lets her mind wander as her hands complete their task effortlessly.

Then there's her personal life.

She's slept with exactly five people in three years, and none of them were looking for relationships or really, anything other than an exchange of energy, the kind of heady release that sex is good for. Not that Lauren isn't looking, either, and she tells itself it's because residency is hell and a killer of all things good, but at night, alone in her tiny single-residency dorm, she knows that's not the case.

She calls Kenzi in a panic one day, having spotted blue eyes and dark hair across the quad in the middle of a crowd of students, and breathes again when she hears that Bo has not contacted Kenzi, or Hale, and hears that Dyson has returned from his soul-searching minus his cockiness and minus Bo.

Everyone seems to be healing, including Lauren. Sometimes she finds herself slipping into old patterns, forgetting that most of her high school years ever happened, that her entire life has been college and medicine and not being ashamed of whomever she sleeps with.

It is whatever it is. Lauren's not in the business of chasing ghosts.

The finished tray goes in the centrifuge, and she is waiting amidst the drone of when a frantic motion from the door grabs her attention.

Her academic advisor is waving his arms around excitedly, mouthing words that can't be heard over the sound of the equipment. Intrigued, Lauren flips the switch to off and waves him in.

"Lauren! The dean wants to see you!" He says excitedly, swinging the door open and motioning her outside. "He says it's important, and if he sent me to get you- well, you can bet it is."

His enthusiasm makes her smile, and get butterflies in her stomach.

"I just saw him yesterday- what could he want me for?"

"I don't know, but hurry up and we can find out!"

She disposes of the last pair of gloves and rubs out the red mark the safety goggles have made on her forehead, and exits the lab, closing the doors behind her.

As they walk, Lauren nods to a few professors and recognizes and smiles at strangers who stare admiringly at her ID.

People tell her that medical school is cutthroat, competitive beyond tolerance. Lauren doesn't really care; what they didn't mention was that it's only a competition if there's a legitimate threat.

And there isn't.

The door of the dean's office is open, when they arrive. Lauren enters behind her professor, and at first doesn't notice someone else standing near the bookshelves.

"Ah, Lewis! The woman of the hour. I'd like to introduce you Miss Marquise, the head of operations of Nostrum Laboratories." The dean booms, leading her over to the stranger, who turns around with a smirk. Lauren notices that she's drop-dead beautiful but moves with a tinge of danger, like a stained glass window with razor edges. The way she looks at Lauren, a little predatory and a little impressed, makes Lauren blush from head to foot.

"Evony Marquise."

"Lauren. Lauren Lewis."

"Miss Marquise here has some extremely good news for you, Lewis. I'll give you your privacy." He grabs his coat, nods to Lauren's advisor, and exits the room, closing the door behind him.

Evony walks over to the floor-to-wall windows of the office, resting her hands on the back of the dean's chair. Lauren hesitatingly walks over beside her.

"See that?"

Evony points at a distant building in the distance, Lauren nods.

"Now, Miss Lewis. I'm sure you're aware of your excellent academic record here, and the amount that you've already contributed to undergraduate research. You applied for an intern position at the medical school a week ago, correct?"

Lauren nods again. Somehow she gets the impression that Evony is looking less for a conversation and more for her acknowledgement.

"We're opening up a new clinic, in conjunction with the hospital. That building, to be specific. New funding, new administration, but same staff. It's a solution to the overcrowding that pleases everyone; the city gets a new clinic, we get a new teaching environment and a hell of a lot of community support."

"That's wonderful." Lauren says.

"I'm glad you think so."

Evony smiles and runs a fingertip along the back of Lauren's hand, tracing the delicate bones. At the touch, Lauren's hand starts to tremble- she can't help it. The not-so-innocent hand moves up, tracing the stitches letters of her name on the lab coat, right above Lauren's breast.

"To be frank, we want you on the team. To learn, of course, but we're also in the business of starting careers off on the right foot. It's the only position of its kind in the country, I can assure you. Details are being sent to you as we speak, but I wanted to have this chance to meet you." Her hand wanders to Lauren's elbow, squeezing. "To convince you."

Lauren's mouth answers before her brain has time to think.

"I- I don't know what to say."

"That's easy, darling. Just say yes."

Her stomach tightens when Evony cocks her head to the side, her hands grown clammy where they hang by her sides. She can't move.

"Um-could I have some time to consider it?"

Evony pulls away and laughs. "Of course, where are my manners? You are a brilliant woman, Miss Lewis. Forgive me for being presumptuous, I look forward very much to working with you."

Then she is gone, leaving Lauren dazed by the scent of her perfume and the lingering touch of her hand.

Lauren breathes out, long. _Well then_, she thinks.

* * *

She lives on the east side. The city park runs within view past her window, effectively dividing the metropolis into its two relative halves; on one side, the hospital and the university, gleaming white and chrome, and the other the suburbs and the darker half of industrialization.

The park usually lays claim to Lauren's mornings; it's a ten minute walk from her dorm and has a track that goes on for miles, encircling the better parts of the city. Lauren looks forward to going now, especially, because the cherry trees are in bloom and being in their midst soothes her in a way that nothing but simple beauty can these days. It's almost ethereal, pushing oxygen into her lungs during the grey dawn, and waiting for the world to start again.

One morning she has her headphones in and is blocking out the world, when-

"Fuck!" She's knocked to the ground by another person, hitting the pavement hard on her side. Her phone and keys go spilling out of her pockets but her hands cushion her fall, and Lauren scrambles to make sure everything is still in working condition before lifting her head to see another woman, knocked off balance, standing in front of her.

A shiny golden emblem, jarred by the collision, falls from the woman's belt and clatters beside Lauren. Her eyes widen in recognition.

Oh _shit,_ she's just headbutted a cop.

The woman looks like a harbinger of death, glaring at her with icy green eyes and white-blonde hair tied into a tight bun on her head. But as Lauren looks closer, in that split second, she sees a sadness that she's become familiar with, working at the hospital. One of hopelessness, but also the impulse to just keep going, no matter how bad it gets. A fighter, this one.

She's looking into this far too much.

Hurriedly Lauren stands up, taking the badge with her, and holds it back out. The woman's eyes don't leave Lauren's face, staring at her intently, and Lauren almost wilts under the heavy gaze.

"Um-sorry about that."

There is a very long pause.

"Just watch where you're fucking going, okay?" The woman growls, swiping the identification from her hand and running away faster than Lauren can retort. Her eyes are the last thing Lauren sees before she's gone. Lauren doesn't stop seeing them, though, and in her mind's eye the green remains.

She shakes her head and continues on her way.

* * *

Lauren's almost late for her morning class, but she makes it and doesn't think twice about the incident.

In her mailbox is a reminder from the University that her housing stipend is about to run out, and to find other habitations for the summer.

So that means no more dorm room, and either an apartment the size of a matchbox or a roommate who won't mind Lauren's constant movement in and out. Neither of those options sounds very easy to obtain.

Of all the things Lauren needs to tackle, this is the one she looks the least forward to. But her laundry is done and her employment shored up, at least for now, so she pours a glass of wine and settles on her tiny bed to peruse the apartment ads.

That's when she comes across it for the first time.

The apartment is in a part of the city that Wikipedia describes as "trendy" and "on the map" but what draws Lauren in is the description; there is almost nothing written about the opportunity itself, other than the basic bedroom-bathroom-sq. feet. The person who wrote the ad doesn't seem to be in any hurry, at all, and that appeals to Lauren beyond the apparently massive bathroom and small cactus in the window.

She types out a polite email; she's neat, unobtrusive. Doesn't smoke, drink heavily, or do drugs. Willing to cook, and looking to disappear.

* * *

Tamsin doesn't know shit about licenses and leases unless she's busting someone for violating them, and she isn't about to hire a lawyer to work over what should be a basic human interaction. She figures she'll just find someone who isn't a creep, run their name through a background check, and poke through her utility bills to find out how much she actually pays in gas, light, and water every month. Establish a frame of reference.

She keeps waiting for a sign that she's gone out of her mind, that this bad idea is just that, a bad idea, and Tamsin should drop it before she's saddled with more problems she doesn't know how to handle.

Speaking of problems.

The first day of her new job involves a new nameplate, a stack of unfiled cases, and a terrified rookie at her beck and call. She amuses herself by ordering him to give messages to nonexistent people, and then discovers that she doesn't get any bullets in her gun for the next two weeks.

She finds that out the first morning, and nearly quits right then and there.

They're not exposing her to anything serious right now, mostly paperwork and cataloguing evidence. But she get whispers around the office, information that she isn't privy to, yet. But the whispers are of something enormous, involving her old department and several more.

Tamsin waits, and bides her time.

She's got things to distract her. Tamsin finally checks her inbox and flips through all her new messages with diminishing interest. As soon as she reads the words "free-spirited hippie" on the last application, she slams down the lid of her laptop in frustration.

Maybe it was a stupid idea. Tamsin can't imagine spending an hour, let alone twenty-four of them, with some of these people. But two weeks later, she receives a last email, an official one, from an email registered to the university.

A Lauren Lewis.

It's enough that there are no glaring red flags; she's in school to become a doctor, and seems normal enough. Vex runs her name and reports that Lewis doesn't have so much as a parking ticket on her record. Her standards have really dropped, Tamsin thinks, if just _not being weird_ is enough for her now.

Still, she quickly types out an email back.  
_Hey, I got your email about the apartment. There's a coffeehouse about two blocks from the place, called The Grind. Meet me there in tomorrow at four._

* * *

Of course Lauren's early.

Tamsin (an unusual name, she thinks. Norse? Icelandic?) is supposed to be meeting her here. When she first read the email, her first thought was to ask Tamsin to wear something distinctive, Not a carnation, obviously, but at least something to identify her with so Lauren isn't staring down everyone at the coffeeshop, trying to find a single woman amongst the crowd.

Thank God she'd scratched that idea. That's too weird, even for her.

She hears Tamsin before she sees her, because the voice that calls her name out in a question is startlingly familiar. The first syllable makes her ears prick, Lauren whips around and there she is- the blonde with the green eyes, the cop, the person who snapped at Lauren and then ran off without another word. Tamsins' face freezes in place, the half-hearted grin almost comical on her face, before dropping back into shock.

_What_ a coincidence.

"Oh."

"It's _you._"

Lauren's hand does this strange, awkward wave-thing that makes her cringe as soon as her hand drops back to her side.

"Um, I think so?"

"You- I ran into you. At the park."

"Yes. Literally, yes."

A long exhale passes through Tamsin's lips and she drops heavily into the seat opposite from Lauren. Those green eyes come to rest, serious as ever, on Lauren's face.

"Are you okay? I mean, you fell-"

"I'm fine. The external oblique muscles on the torso is one of the toughest in the body, even if I had taken a harder fall, there would have been no lasting damage done."

Tamsin stares at her, and Lauren doesn't need a mirror to know that her entire face has suddenly flushed to high heaven. This is seriously starting off on the wrong foot. Tamsin, luckily, saves the moment by humming and pointing to the empty table.

"Okay, I'm going to need a drink for this."

_Wait, what?_

"I wasn't aware that coffeeshops served alcohol."

"They don't." Tamsin says shortly. She's even more starkly beautiful up close, all sharp glances and arched eyebrows. But her cheekbones and the curve of her jaw is soft, so is her voice, and there is no trace of the anger that first introduced her to Lauren.

At Lauren's slightly perturbed look her voice drops to a conspiratorial whisper. "I know the owner. He used to work in the police department, but when he got on disability after an injury he opened up this place. He gets us cheap booze, we don't bust him for not having a liquor license. Everybody wins."

She shrugs and places a manila folder on the table between them, her shoulders slouching as her body relaxes. Lauren doesn't miss a movement, and it seems like the noise of the other patrons around them is hammering its way into her brain. Still she doesn't take her eyes from Tamsin.

"And now that we've ruined any chance of a good first impression, we can loosen up and act like normal people for a change. You opposed?"

Lauren lets her body relax, too, and shakes her head as she lets out a breath she's been holding since Tamsin arrived. The world buzzes back to normal volume around her.

"None from me. But you know it's four in the afternoon."

"Better than four in the morning." Tamsin retorts, calling the waiter to the table and writing something on his pad of paper. He looks down, confused, before Tamsin literally pats him on hand and sends him on his way. Before she even turns back around, Lauren leans forward.

"Actually, can you make it two?"

Tamsin gives her an impressed look, and calls him back to double her order, one for her and one for "the chick across from me". Lauren smiles.

Those five minutes of awkward conversation seem to lighten things up considerably, and they turn to the pictures Tamsin's brought of the apartment. Lauren sees the furniture and imagines rearranging it, putting her clothes in the empty closet, working at the desk Tamsin has put in her spare room. It all fits.

But after an hour or so, she's still undecided. She sneaks a peek at Tamsin but the other woman is already looking at her, as if Tamsin can sense her uneasiness. She speaks before Lauren has a chance to.

"Look. I know what it takes to live in this city, ok? I'd bet your bathroom is the size of a shoebox. Am I wrong?"

"It's not that small-" Lauren protests before she stops short. That's such an untruth that she can't let it leave her lips. Tamsin makes a noise of disbelief and drains her second shot.

"But it's not just that, is it?" She crosses her arms on the table and leans forward, until Lauren sees the tiny lines that run the curve of her mouth. "I get that it's a big decision for you to make, and believe me- I'm not a saint either. But I need a roommate and you need a place to stay, so let's pull up our big girl panties and work something out, yeah?"

Lauren laughs despite herself.

"Don't you want to- I don't know, ask me about my history or something? Get references, so you know I'm not some sort of monster?

Tamsin raises and eyebrow and points directly at Lauren's chest.

"Are you planning a murder or something else that I need to know about?"

"No."

"Then we're good." Tamsin reaches over the table and takes Lauren's shot glass, stacking it on top of her own like a tiny tower, tapping it with her fingernail. A drop of amber liquid drops down the side of the glass. Lauren watches her fiddle with them, a little confused and a little amused, before taking a deep breath that captures Tamsin's attention. The woman looks up, waits patiently.

"I'm sorry, I don't mean to sound ungrateful." Lauren shuffles her thumbs around where her hands are fisted on the table. "But why me? I mean, I've only known you for maybe an hour and you seem convinced that somehow, everything will line up. The hours, the housework-"

"Technically, I've known you for three weeks." The smile on Tamsin's face is genuine but humorless. "And I don't know that everything will, but we won't know unless we try."

Lauren looks at her and sees nothing but honesty.

* * *

Lauren goes back to her tiny dorm room to think everything over, and once she measures and discovers that she can touch both walls of her bathroom by stretching out her arms, she sits at her desk to make a pros and cons sheet.

The sheer strangeness of her circumstances is making her head whirl.

But then she thinks of how Tamsin's apartment has working windows, an empty bookshelf in the corner, and a shower with better water pressure than any she'll find in a similarly priced apartment. She thinks of how living with a cop has to have some kind of benefit to it, something to outweigh the coming-and-going and the ridiculous hours Lauren will have to put up with. It'll be like having an angry, sarcastic guard dog living in her shared space, with a vested interest in protecting the same things Lauren does.

That is, if the dog had a gun and an incredibly high tolerance for alcohol.

And then there's Tamsin the person, who is an enigma that Lauren can't seem to crack. What does she want from her anyway? There's no particular reason Tamsin needs a roommate, and for the deal she's offering Lauren, it can't be about needing rent. So what's going on?

Still, all the pros outweigh the cons, and she can't really afford to pass this opportunity up.  
The final straw comes later that evening, when her mother calls. She asks all the usual questions: whether Lauren is studying hard enough, whether she's keeping track of her spending and her plans for the summer, whether there are any eligible men popping up on her radar. In a sudden-ditch efforts to avoid the last line of questioning she blurts out that she's getting a roommate.

There is a sudden silence on the other end and Lauren imagines the gears working in her mother's head, wondering if "roommate" means "roommate" or "secret girlfriend", and as soon as her mother responds with "that's great, dear,", Lauren hurriedly ends the conversation and tosses her phone onto her bed like she's been burned.

It has to be wrong to laugh at someone else's discomfort, much less her own mother's, but when Lauren replays the call again in her head and imagines Tamsin actually meeting her, she nearly falls over laughing.

* * *

She drives to Tamsin's apartment immediately after, and knocks on the door to find the woman still awake, smirking like she's expected Lauren to come sooner, but it's okay now that she's here. The door opens wider and Lauren sees that Tamsin has a pen in her hand, and a piece of paper on the coffee table.

She thinks that it's the rental contract she's supposed to sign, only that it's not actually legal; it's basically a sheet of printer paper where Tamsin has scrawled, "I will pay half the rent and half the utilities and not break anything that belongs to Tamsin" above a dotted line and a large X where apparently, Lauren's name goes.

There's only one thing left that Lauren needs to say, now, but she can't get a word in until she's watching Tamsin fumble around in the cupboards for a bottle of wine and two glasses. Celebrating, apparently, their new roommate status.

It's only when Tamsin turns back around and sees Lauren motionless at the table, paper unsigned, that she seems confused.

"What?"

"I'm gay." Lauren blurts out.

Tamsin doesn't bat an eyelid.

"Congratulations. So, white or red?"

Lauren just gapes at her.

"Sign it already," says Tamsin, yawning and setting both bottles on the table. "I have early shift tomorrow."

She looks away, but Lauren swears that she sees a smile appear for a split second on Tamsin's face before it's back to the same impenetrable mask. Lauren takes the pen and signs on the dotted line.

* * *

**AN2: So I lied when I said chapters would be shorter/come faster. And I realize that "Tamsin Skarsten" is a total copout, but go with it, guys. It's been an incredibly long week but your patience and support is very much appreciated. It's the comments and love (and Zoie Palmer) that make my world go round.**


	5. Chapter 5

When things shift, they almost never come in small, visible increments.

There is always a starting point, some accommodation you expect to be permanent forever. Then the pressure builds, gathering steam and stacking the blocks ever higher until you hit some vital threshold and boom!- suddenly everything you've been avoiding, or hoping for, or even expecting hits you like a train to the face.

That's what living with Tamsin is like.

To indulge the analogy, the first few weeks of living with her are terrifying. Lauren tiptoes (literally, the toes of her socks are wearing thin) around the apartment like a thief, afraid of waking Tamsin up when she flushes the toilet at night, doing her laundry in separate loads, turning the television back to whatever Tamsin was watching when Lauren hears her key in the door. For the longest time, Lauren only relaxes when she's alone, and even then she's careful to observe the scene before she moves anything, so she'll know how to put it all back.

If Tamsin notices, she doesn't show it.

Lauren's shoulders are starting to be perpetually sore from keeping tense all the time.

Also, while Tamsin might not enjoy binding legal agreements, she does have her own, unspoken rules about life and how to live it. For instance, that she either goes to sleep early or not at all, depending on when her shift is the next day and how much alcohol she's had the night before.

When she doesn't have to work the next day, or only in the afternoon, Tamsin doesn't even come home on time. Lauren makes dinner and wraps the leftovers in foil, before retreating to her bedroom to study or work on some taxing problem at the lab. When she rises with the sun to make it to class or the clinic, Tamsin is usually sprawled across some surface that is not her bed. Or anything really sleep-worthy. Sometimes the floor.

Lauren makes sure to leave out a pitcher of water, on those nights when Tamsin isn't back before midnight, and it's always empty by morning.

Days that Tamsin has to be at work early are completely different; Lauren comes back from working late to find her on the couch or in the kitchen, eyes trained on the television in the living room, barely watching what her hands are doing. The TV shows an advertisement for the Pacific Palisades, bluffs over a crystal-blue ocean. When the ad promises "a paradise on Earth", Tamsin makes the same skeptical face that Lauren does.

"Hey," she says, when she sees Lauren.

"Hi." Lauren replies, dropping her bag on the couch while Tamsin puts pizza on paper plates. Lauren showers and puts up her hair, and Tamsin hands Lauren her dinner as she comes out of the bathroom. They eat in a peaceful silence, and Tamsin puts her feet up on the coffee table while Lauren spreads her textbooks along the dining room table. Tables, apparently, are too conventional for Tamsin.

When she finishes her studying for the night, Lauren will sit beside Tamsin on the couch, a safe distance away. Tamsin will turn on the 11 o'clock evening news. They share breathing space for an hour, and then Tamsin says goodnight, disposes of her beer cans, and heads to her bedroom without another word. Lauren will hear the water running, and then silence.

She smiles.

If there's anything Lauren learns in those first few months, it's that Tamsin's job is draining beyond belief. Sometimes she turns to Lauren and says nothing, and Lauren hands her a wine glass with the same silence and receives a nod of thanks.

Now there are so many things Lauren knows about Tamsin that she's never known about anyone else, and she doesn't know how it happened.

That's the epiphany, when it sinks into her mind.

Maybe this is what adulthood feels like.

Don't take her the wrong way; they have their spats and rough moments.

The first battle Lauren wins occurs in the kitchen.

There is one day that Lauren looks at Tamsin's grocery list (on one of the few weeks she actually bothers to make one) and discovers why they almost always have pizza on days when its Tamsin's turn to cook; there is precious little else that Tamsin ever buys. Pizza, beer, and breakfast cereal. There's an entry for "Essentials" at the bottom, but that doesn't seem to mean anything to Tamsin except bread and maybe milk. Maybe.

So when Tamsin comes home one day and finds three times the usual number of plastic bags on every available surface of the apartment, Lauren keeps her head down and her mouth set in a straight line. She will not be talked out of this. There are a few things she can guarantee in life, and good nutrition is one of them. She is sticking to her guns, even if Tamsin has an actual one, and Tamsin's reaction is just as expected.

"What the hell are you doing?"

"Putting groceries away." Lauren snips, turning away and busying herself with the crisper. Tamsin watches her put away peppers and mushrooms, dumbstruck, before rescuing a stack of mail from being pushed off the counter by Lauren's rearranging. Lauren feels a little bad; this has to be a bit of a nasty surprise.

"I can see that, Einstein. I'm just asking why it's happening _here_, in our kitchen. God- last time I checked, there weren't any apocalypses that we have to live through anytime soon. I don't even know what half of this is." Tamsin complains, holding up a bundle of something green and leafy.

"That's kale."

Tamsin rolls her eyes. "Thank you, I can read labels."

Lauren shrugs.

"Just checking."

She hears a very offended grunt, and then something else, also green and leafy but this time unmarked, is pushed into her face.

"I think this kale is spoiled." Tamsin says. Lauren takes the bundle from her, shaking her head.

"This is swiss chard. You can tell the difference between the two by the purple tint along the stems."

Tamsin takes it back and tosses it in the fridge with the other vegetables. Lauren feels a little bad; this did come a bit out of the blue, going all Gordon Ramsay on Tamsin's beloved junk food. Maybe it would have been better to let her down easy first, try negotiations.

"I don't need to identify either of them, doc, because I'm not planning to eat them. If you're on some health kick or something, I'm not going to be part of it. Where's my pizza?"

"Here." Lauren pushes another, smaller bag at her. "But I'm not eating it."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because we've eaten it twice a week for the last month!" Lauren says, glaring. "Look, we're spending almost a fourth of our combined budgets on food, and this load of groceries is actually better for our budget. And better for our health. I know you have your own eating habits, but please try to improve your dietary preferences when you're fulfilling them."

"It's not a dietary preference, it's a biological necessity."

Lauren flicks the plastic of the ID badge on her chest. "Who's the doctor here? I actually don't know how you survived this long, eating what you do. And besides, I'm just plain sick of pizza, unless you at least make an effort to cook something else, I'm making stuff for myself from now on."

Tough love is the best love.

"I can't cook with any of this stuff." Tamsin grumbles, poking a box of dried pasta.

"Don't worry. I'll teach you. Don't you have a day off-" Lauren takes a step back and cranes her neck to look at the calendar-" this Sunday? Perfect!"

Tamsin just looks at her, throws her hands in the air, and stalks out of the room. Lauren smiles and starts to whistle as she pulls out ingredients for a lasagna and salad. Somewhere else in the apartment, a door slams, loudly.

Lauren feels guilty again for half a second, but then the door reopens and she hears Tamsin call out, "Sorry!" before it closes again. She stops feeling guilty after that.

Tamsin re-emerges a half hour after Lauren finishes eating, takes the plate of leftovers, and puts it into the microwave. Lauren doesn't say a word while the microwave buzzes, but when Tamsin comes to sit down beside her, she leans back against the couch cushions and grins happily, eyes closed.

"Shut up." Tamsin says, mouth full.

"I didn't say anything."

* * *

Tamsin wins a battle against Lauren herself.

There must have been a bad test or something, or a stumble in her clinical trial, because Lauren comes home from the lab with a face like a downpour and an attitude to match. It's her posture that gives it away, before she even opens her mouth. Her shoulders are hunched, her eyes downcast; the clouds are gathering on the horizon.

"Hey." Tamsin greets her from the kitchen, where she's putting her newly acquired knife skills to use on a carrot. She looks down before she hears Lauren's expected reply, but when it doesn't come, Tamsin stops chopping and looks back up. Lauren had her elbows on her knees, her head hung and long blonde hair loose around her shoulders.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah." Lauren mutters, but she doesn't straighten up, nor does she look directly at Tamsin. Tamsin walks over, and peers under the veil of hair to see Lauren's eyes. The woman looks practically on the verge of tears.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, I'm sure, Tamsin. I just want to be left alone."

Lauren pushes up off the couch, past Tamsin, and slings her briefcase over her shoulder, walking to her bedroom without another word.

By now, Tamsin knows that this is how Lauren punishes herself when things go wrong. She messes up, and then she doesn't eat, doesn't sleep, as if to make reparations in some terrible way. She will work herself into exhaustion to make up for any perceived slight to her work. This isn't the first time that this has happened, and Tamsin is damned if she's letting it happen again.

So she goes to Lauren's door and demands that she function differently. She insists that Lauren leave her textbooks, drags her to kitchen and orders that they have a conversation.

"Really, Tamsin, I'm _fine_."

"No, you're not, doc. You don't have to tell me about anything that happened today, alright, but you are definitely _not_ fine."

Lauren tugs her arm out of Tamsin's grip and sits down heavily at the kitchen island, chin resting on her folded hands. Tamsin slides a plate of food at her, to which Lauren presses her lips together, tightly.

"You're not going to get any information out of me."

"I don't need information, I just need to you eat. No sense letting all this go to waste just because you can't be bothered to actually put it in your mouth." Tamsin prods her with the sharp end of a fork until Lauren relents and snatches the utensil out of her hand. Tamsin watches her poke at the vegetables with disinterest.

"I swear they're not that bad."

Then Lauren, begrudgingly, eats a mouthful.

"Also, quit beating yourself up about whatever you are beating yourself up about. It's not worth it, no matter what it is." Tamsin says, standing opposite and tapping the granite of the countertop. Lauren twirls her fingers around the handle of the fork.

"I could have killed somebody. I could have ruined a massive experiment that took years to come to completion. Hell, you could be arrested tomorrow for harboring a fugitive. You don't care about any of that?"

This is a strange rehashing of their first conversation, Tamsin thinks, but her answer hasn't changed.

"I know you wouldn't harm anyone intentionally. Mistakes happen, even on the best laid plans. And technically, I only get busted for harboring if I knew about your alleged crimes and willingly ignored that knowledge, but since you're refusing to say anything I'm in the clear."

Lauren barks out a short, relieved laugh, and links her fingers behind her head. She stares up at the ceiling for so long that Tamsin considers reminding her that looking into bright lights can result in permanent damage.

"It's just- a bad day at work. Shitty boss, shitty results, shitty day. You know when you just want to ditch everything and let it all go to hell, because it's headed there whether you like it or not? _That_ kind of shitty day."

Tamsin nods. She can sympathize.

"Well, there's only one cure for a day like that. C'mon, we're going to get drunk, and you're not going to remember any of it come morning. Drink all Friday, sleep all Saturday. I promise it's just what you need."

"Tamsin, I'm really not in the mood to go out."

"Who said anything about going out?" Tamsin retorts, and pulls a quart of whisky and two shot glasses out of a cupboard above the sink. The look on Lauren's face is equal parts annoyed and offended.

"I have tequila and vodka in here too, if you prefer."

"You told me that was your medicine cabinet. You know, for _actual_ medicine."

Tamsin snorts and pours them both shots, until the amber liquid threatens to run over the top of the glass.

"And you believed me? Besides, this _is_ medicine. Drink up, doctor."

They clink glasses, and Lauren drains hers before Tamsin does. They both sit up straighter, drink again.

* * *

It works pretty well.

Tamsin finds there are things about Lauren that she discovers only after she invests enough time into her.

That she needs to organize their utensil drawer in a specific way, line everything up not by practical use but by length, so you've got stirring spoons next to a whisk next to a wooden spatula. That she likes lying stomach-down on the couch to take naps, turning so only her cheek is propped up on her arm.

That Tamsin can't watch the X Files when Lauren's in the room. It's a damn good show, despite all its medical/procedural/logical inaccuracies, but Lauren is all too eager to point out all of them when reruns come on the television. Eventually Tamsin bans her from sight when she's indulging her not-so-secret craving, and Lauren throws a pillow at her as she begrudgingly leaves the room.

Lauren keeps so much under wraps. She reveals only selective pieces of her life. Tamsin knows the names of her parents but not the town she grew up in. She knows the people Lauren hates but not the people Lauren loves. Tamsin can respect privacy; it's not like she herself is a particularly open book.

Lauren doesn't really care about the weather, or football scores, or the latest celebrity gossip. She talks about things that matter.

That was something Tamsin wasn't expecting.

So their fights gradually taper off and become something more like compromise; Tamsin gives a little when Lauren pushes, and vice versa.

It's the verb endings, Tamsin thinks. Loose colloquialisms, stray profanities and crude terms brought Stateside decades ago and left to proliferate in Lauren. Harsh humor. Things she says to her, things she calls Tamsin that only someone extremely comfortable with another person would dream of saying.

And there's the fact that Lauren sometimes lounges around in a T-shirt and shorts that just cover her body. Tamsin lets her eyes linger a little too long, but still Lauren looks Tamsin straight in the eyes when they talk, about her petri dishes or Tamsin's latest stupid criminal. There's a tone of voice Lauren takes when she says Tamsin's name; it's all carefree and it loosens the fear inside of her.

It's good.

* * *

Present-day Lauren leans forward to peer into the mirror, shrugging and letting the fabric of her shirt fall into place around her shoulders. The collar is crooked; she fixes it. Her hands reach automatically for a hair tie, a brush- she knows where these things are, without fail.

Routine, everyday things. Vital things.

She's never known how comfortable this is without thinking of it.

No time for a shower; she'll run late if she needs to blow-dry her hair. Lauren pulls her phone off the charger and grabs her briefcase, her laptop. Her lab coat is still at the clinic; she'll drop by the locker room on the way and grab it.

The lab coat completes the ritual.

Tamsin is collapsed against the armchair in the living room, a genuine exhaustion written all over her still features. Her jacket lies on the floor, feet away from the peg. Apparently Tamsin had aimed, missed, and neglected to pick it back up. Lauren now does it for her.

They've been working a big case lately, some illegal drug operation that encompassed several major cities, and she knows now that Tamsin hates the bureaucracy that handles the crimes almost as much as the criminals themselves. But she pushes through, which Lauren finds admirable- and results in sleeping less than she should.

She was going to make coffee but decides against the risk of waking Tamsin up. Their machine can be temperamental, and using the hand-grinder has the potential to wake up the entire apartment complex. Coffee at the lab it is.

There are birds chirping outside the window, and the morning sun bathes everything in a fuzzy yellow light.

She tucks a blanket around Tamsin's sleeping form, puts Tamsin's lunch on the counter where she's sure to see it, and locks the door behind her.

* * *

Tamsin's starting to feel normal again.

Moving to CID didn't get her killed in the first week, surprisingly. She gets up for work on designated shifts, pulls quietly into her parking space, and dangles in her swivel chair and waits for a now-familiar phone call or alarm to rouse her into action.

They work as supplemental units to the regular police force, taking high-profile, high-risk cases off the police's hands. All in all, the guys in her unit are decent, regular people with decent, regular lives. Bill, Tom, Vince, Chris. Wives and kids, soccer games and anniversaries. Tamsin and Vex are the only standouts (that's a euphemism for weirdos) but after seeing the others in action, her barriers go down a little.

Having family means all the people in CID want to go back home in one piece. It makes them smart, alert, and dependable, and immune to the pettiness that mires down normal divisions. She's not quite ready to trust them completely (and she's never going to trust Vex completely, hell no) but she has enough faith to go in without worrying about her back. They all just want to live, and that's a stronger bond than just about anything.

At parade, Tamsin steals Vex's coffee and waits for Ryan, their commanding officer, to finish his usual speech of the day. His usual digressions and lack of information irks her today more so than any other day.

No one is allowed to have the full picture. All Tamsin knows is that working to bust a drug operation means having a hand in every other type of crime in the city. Drugs, but also illegal weapons, prostitution, smuggling, murder-for-hire, and whatever else the underbelly of society was mired in.

That's what she's here for.

"Alright, people. Get out there and don't fuck it up."

All the assembled cops rise as one huddled, mumbling mass. Tamsin tosses her cup in the trash and slips out before anyone else. She clips her badge to her belt and readjusts the gun on her hip, now loaded (fucking finally) and goes directly to the parking garage. Vex follows.

"No hot blonde this morning? Pity, I could have used a pick me up."

Tamsin's thoughts go to Lauren, suddenly. She wonders what she's doing- Lauren should be at work by now, doing crazy doctorly things. Tamsin reaches out and slaps Vex across the back of the head.

"Would you shut up and focus?"

They're on the search for "activity", whatever that means. As they crawl through the streets as casually as possible, Tamsin squirms slightly in her seat. It's not the heat, or discomfort. It's everything else.

"I don't like the looks of this place. Gang signs everywhere, all these windows and doors boarded up- I swear I just saw a needle on the sidewalk. Someone _stepped_ on it." Tamsin's voice trails off even as the back of her neck prickles in nervousness. Vex snorts.

"Why do you think we're driving an unmarked? It's not exactly Beverly Hills, love."

Tamsin shakes her head. Something is off here. Being hyper-vigilant of her surroundings is a gift, she knows now, but it irritates her today to no end. She can't relax. She misses being able to do that.

They cruise for another few hours. The sun gets hotter and the people more numerous, and Tamsin is almost ready to call it quits when suddenly, their radio buzzes.

"This is Dispatch, calling 514. We have a runner coming your way, corner of Elm and Maple Street. Please apprehend."

"_What_ a way to start the morning." Vex shakes his head in disgust.

Tamsin's the one who spots him first. A tall hooded man, running full tilt on a street alongside their own.

"Stop, stop-"

Vex brakes abruptly, and Tamsin jumps out of the car and growls. "I hate it when they run."

Vex is right behind her and they bolt after him together, speeding up when he realizes he's being chased again, and doubles his speed. At the intersection of two buildings, their target veers off into a narrow alley, right in Tamsin's path.

"Left, go left! Cut him off at the light!" Tamsin yells, taking off in the opposite direction. Vex gives her a confused glare but bolts off in that direction anyway, leaving Tamsin to navigate the right side. She runs harder than she ever has, every bit of finesse and trickery coming into play as her boots splash through the puddles of stagnant water in the alley. Her coat flaps open, her hat falls off- Tamsin ignores the thud of her heart against her chest and the rapid tiring of her legs.

He looks back once, his smirk dissolving into a mix of anger and fear as he realizes Tamsin is still on his tail. He takes a sharp right, runs up a fire escape, and Tamsin follows, desperate to catch him. Their feet hit the steps in unison as Tamsin chases the man up the ominously creaking metal stairs. Just as he's within Tamsin's reach, he jumps.

_Crash!_

He takes a tumbling dive off the escape and onto the roof of a Dumpster, before rolling off and running full tilt again.

Fuck.

Tamsin yells at him to stop once before giving up; she won't waste the breath. Since when has a criminal followed orders to stop anyway?

She hears the hum of tires along asphalt, car horns and a pattering of footsteps that means open street. If he makes it there, it'll be almost impossible to catch him; it would be so easy to melt into the throng of people, especially ones with a motive to protect the secrets the neighborhood guards. But now she knows where he's headed.

She takes a split second chance and descends, heading straight north through another alley.

This has to fucking work.

Tamsin cuts through the boulevard, slides through an impossibly tiny gap between two buildings.

Perfect. He passes so close that the hood of his jacket nearly hits Tamsin in the face, and she doesn't hesitate to slam him into the wall with her entire body, stopping his run for good.

They both hit the brick, but only Tamsin bounces. Sort of.

It hurts anyway.

"Son of a bitch!" Tamsin hisses through her teeth, grabbing at the pain that suddenly rips through her right arm. It feels like someone's hit her arm with sledgehammer.

The bastard she hit is doing worse off, though- she got him right under the chin, snapped his head back with the force of a linebacker, and he's down for the count, moaning in the long grass. A package of white powder has fallen out of his hoodie during the struggle, and Tamsin quickly picks it up by the corner and tosses it some distance away.

Cuffing someone (one knee on his back, one hand securing) has never been more satisfying.

Then Vex arrives in a thundering of footsteps, and turns the dealer onto his back. He breaks out into laughter when he sees the disorientation hover around the man's eyes. Snapping his fingers right in front of his face brings no reaction, and Vex turns and gives Tamsin a thumbs-up.

"I think you gave him a concussion, I do. Well done."

"What the hell took you so goddamn long?"

Tamsin glares at him, gritting her teeth as she braces for another wave of pain to sear up her arm. She moves her fingers gingerly, then her wrist- nothing seems to be broken, but she swears her entire arm will be black and blue by morning.

"Look, love, some of us use our brains instead of running blindly towards danger, alright? I was calling for backup when you two appear from nowhere and get slammed into the wall. You're lucky no one else showed up to take you out."

Tamsin shakes her head.

"Bastard almost dislocated my arm."

Vex makes some sort of obscene gesture at the man's prone form.

"Well, you have to admit it's your bloody fault for coming at him like a steamroller. I do believe he cushioned your impact into the wall, so you really ought to be thanking him for being a human mattress."

Their backup arrives in a hail of bawling sirens, and the other officers pat Tamsin's suspect down for before roughly hauling him away in handcuffs for questioning. He's still disoriented, and Tamsin swears she sees Vex crack his knuckles in anticipation of _that_ interrogation.

Tamsin sits heavily on the curb, still cradling her arm. She's definitely starting to loose feeling in her fingers, now, and Tamsin feels the familiar throbbing that meant her fingers were about to swell up to several times their size. _Fantastic._

Someone chooses that terrible time to tap her on the shoulder, and Tamsin whirls around in annoyance.

"What?" She snaps.

The man starts like Tamsin's come to collect his soul, hands visibly shaking as he holds them up in terror. Young and inexperienced at dealing with cops in pain, apparently.

"I'm just the p-paramedic, we need to get you into the a-ambulance, to the hospital." He motions behind him, where the ambulance has just pulled up. She hadn't noticed.

But at the word "ambulance," Tamsin's head shoots up and she fixes him with her best piercing glare.

"I'm fine. Nothing was broken, look-" She flexes her fingers even as her wrist screams in protest. "There is no way I'm going to the hospital over this."

It's not just pride.

"I can't- I can't be responsible, Officer, if something should happen- I need get an X-ray, monitor your pupils-"

"Look at me." Tamsin says, grabbing the front of his shirt and bringing his terrified face close to hers. "How do my pupils look? Fine, right?" She watches his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. "I don't need an x-ray, but if you really want to be useful, get me some ice."

She releases him and looks around. The street has cleared out, now, and little traffic is passing through now that word has gotten out that cops are in the area. There's no way they're going to get anything out of the people in the neighborhood now. Another perk of this lovely day.

A bag of ice the size of Tamsin's head is handed to her. The paramedic bounces on the balls of his feet at her side.

"Why are you still here?" She snaps, gritting her teeth at the icy agony that reawakens in her arm when she presses the ice down on it.

"Are you sure you don't need to see a doctor?"

"I see a doctor every day. For hours. I have one at home." Tamsin grins. Maybe it's the adrenaline wearing off. She has no idea why she just said that.

He looks at her like she's crazy, but just then Tamsin's phone buzzes. She's mildly surprised it remained intact for the duration of her chase, and grateful, because a text from Lauren shows up on her screen. She waves the phone in the paramedic's face.

"That's my doctor, right now."

He finally just shakes his head and walks away, and Tamsin's left alone, soaking in her injury in the sun.

Vex comes walking up with her hat in hand.

"How_ is_ the good doctor?"

Tamsin waves the phone at her arm. Lauren's leaving work.

"Clueless."

Vex nods.

"So, I suppose you'll be needing a ride?"

* * *

Lauren closes her eyes and sighs deeply, rubbing small circles along her temples. She read somewhere that you can cure your own migraines by putting pressure at certain points; the temples, the bridge of your nose, the place where your jaw meets your ears. Something to do with relaxing muscles in sensitive areas.

But it does nothing if the thing causing tension was outside of the body.

The clinic, in short, has everything she's ever dreamed of. She gets the highest quality of teaching at the medical school, then gets to apply what she's learned under guidance in an actual hospital. In the months she's worked here, she can literally feel herself absorbing the information, becoming a smarter, more meticulous doctor. Her research is getting funding and accolades in increasing numbers, and she's never felt more validated.

There's only one problem.

"Lewis!" A voice barks at her.

Lachlan.

He's the type of nervous, controlling asshole that Lauren's managed to avoid so far in her career. Afraid to be shown up by any one of his subordinates, he manages the clinic with an iron fist that looks good on paper but is hell on everyone actually working here. He plays favorites and picks on the weak, and Lauren's never despised someone more in her entire life.

Lauren gets to be the primary target because she's the rising star, on track to take Lachlan's job one day. Despite being much older, Lachlan has been reduced to picking at the smallest flaws in Lauren's work in a vain attempt to discredit her. It amounts to annoyance more than actual harm, and Lauren knows the rest of the clinic is behind her. Lauren feels better knowing she has allies.

Still, it's not too satisfying.

Ciara, one chair over, shoots her a look.

"Lauren Lewis!"

Ciara, one of her co-workers, is a guiding light through all of this. She doesn't get the same abuse from Lachlan, but that's no surprise; she has an innocence that Lauren can't even fake, more devastating than her British accent and perfectly structured features. Half the clinic is in love with her, including one terrible boss, but it doesn't faze Ciara. She willingly accepts Lauren's social pariah status, and being friends with her is both useful and wonderful for those reasons. Ciara also pilfers lunch from the company fridge sometimes, and they take their stolen goods to an empty conference room for privacy.

Today, they manage to avoid Lachlan for an entire morning before he shows up, tosses a lab report in front of Lauren, and demands that she do it over.

"Why?" Lauren asks.

"Because I told you to, Lewis." He comes up close enough for Lauren to spit at, if she dared. "Your report on the hematoma patient in room 204 was less than adequate. If this is the kind of sloppy work you're planning on doing, you might as well leave this clinic now."

Is it worth sacrificing her medical license to smack him in the face? Probably not.

"Mr. Simmons was discharged _this morning_. I wasn't even finished with the report, it's not due until the end of work today. And you only printed the first page here."

Lachlan slaps a hand down on the paper, knocking it out of Lauren's grip. Ciara looks murderous.

"I don't care, Lewis, you redo this entire report or I'll write you up. And the next time I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it immediately, without exception. Do I make myself clear?"

Lauren's jaw tightens and she can almost feel his face against her fist, but she nods. Lachlan swaggers away.

She has to sit back and catch her breath, and also to calm her burgeoning rage. These are just microagressions, Lachlan has nothing on her. They build up over time, but Lauren can deal with them one by one. She can be the bigger person here.

Ciara comes over, throwing a dirty look at Lachlan's back, touches Lauren's hand softly.

"Just ignore that asshole. You know he does it just to rattle you."

"Well, it's working." She says, rubbing her eyes again. Just seeing Lachlan now makes her hackles rise and her fingers itch. At least she has Ciara.

"You want me to help you with that?"

"Nah, I'll just tack some bullshit onto the end. It's just busy work anyway." Lauren mumbles, tossing the file to the side. "But if you care to stay and chat for a while, I'd appreciate it.

Ciara is about to sit next to Lauren when the door of the conference room bursts open. They both look up, expecting Lachlan back to torment them again, but it's not him.

It's Evony Marquise.

Lauren's hand stills on its way to her water bottle, as Evony stalks up to them with all the grace of a hunting tigress.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Ciara. But I need to have a word with Miss Lewis here."

Ciara shoots Lauren a look of false reassurance before leaving the room, and Lauren wishes with all her heart she could have stayed. Stayed, and left her with some defense against her employer.

Evony manages to trail her fingers along every surface of the room before coming over to stand beside her. She's dressed to kill, a blood-red blazer that's almost bursting at the seams and a black pencil skirt that shows long, perfect legs underneath. Lauren hasn't forgotten their first meeting, but she looks even more striking than she did then. Not a good sign.

Evony hadn't forgotten either. She's been around the clinic frequently, but has never sought Lauren out like this before. She sees her in snatches, always meticulously dressed even under a lab coat, leaving a wake of stunned doctors and scared interns behind her. Lauren can't get a fix on who she is.

She only knows that every other word is an innuendo and Evony is a woman to be pleased.

Evony perches delicately on the edge of the table, uncomfortably close to where Lauren stands, stone-faced.

"Mr. Lachlan looked quite incensed as he came out of here. What was going on in here?"

She squirms under the heat of Evony's expectant gaze.

"Nothing really- he just wanted me to do a report over again."

"Why?"

"He believed it to be inadequate to…hospital standards."

"And was it?"

Lauren looks directly into Evony's expressionless eyes, and considers lying.

"No."

"Hmm." Evony leans back on her hands, letting one of her high-heeled shoes brush the edge of Lauren's lab coat.

"He-" Lauren bites back her actual descriptors of Lachlan and tries to ignore the way Evony watches her mouth with every word she speaks. "His management style can be challenging. But I've been handling it just fine."

Evony scoffs.

"Oh, let us not dance around the truth, Lauren. He's a brute. Useless with cooperation, but ruthless in his methods, and the son of the city commissioner. I have use for someone like that."

Lauren swallows and tries to hide her disappointment. Evony looks at her, tracing her every movement.

"But if he's giving you trouble, I don't see a need to keep him working in the same lab. But it will take from efforts on your part."

"What can I do?"

The words leave her mouth before she considers their implication, and Evony's smile gets wider and more indulgent. She leans forward, her breath playing along Lauren's cheek, and her mouth moves slowly, slowly, up to Lauren's ear.

"You're a smart woman, Lauren. I'm sure you can come up with something."

Lauren makes her decision right then.

Evony doesn't get another word out before Lauren turns her head and captures Evony's lips in hers, stepping forward even as Evony gasps and jerks back. She breathes through her nose and kisses Evony again, harder, wrapping her hands in sleek brown hair and pulling her closer. The woman's lips are soft and pliant against hers, and Lauren's traitorous body reacts to the taste and sound and feel of her.

She's missed this. She may be doing it for all the wrong reasons, but fuck, she's missed having another woman this close to her. She's missed the intimacy, even if it's manufactured.

Evony doesn't hesitate long. She laces her fingers around the back of Lauren's neck as they kiss deeper, and Lauren's tongue is mapping Evony's bottom lip when she feels it curl into a smirk, just before those lips open and Lauren hears a small moan escape them.

She pushes Evony harder against the table, grinding her hips down onto her body. Her hands move from Evony's face, to her shoulders, down her arms, and settle on her waist.

There is no pretention here. They are both here for the same purpose.

This is no place for guilt, and Lauren feels none. If this is their currency, Lauren's willing to empty her wallet, even as her mind races past a million miles a minute.

Lauren kisses up Evony's jaw, licks her earlobe, and sucks hard on the spot that draws a long, heavy moans from her mouth. She pulls Evony's blazer off her shoulders but not any farther- Evony's arms are trapped behind her, making her breasts jut out ever so slightly into Lauren's hands. She arches; Lauren squeezes tighter. They are both panting now, in an incessant throb of motion that leaves clothes rumpled and hair mussed and hands frantic to find bare skin.

She reaches under Evony's shirt and lightly scratches down her smooth, heaving torso, licking down Evony's neck until she reaches a the curve that fits her lips.

Evony makes a delighted sound, almost a purr, and shifts to take Lauren's lab coat off.

That's when Lauren stops, removes her hands, and backs away.

Evony looks at her, betrayed, and doesn't let go of her grip on Lauren's arms.

"Don't stop now, doctor. We're just getting started."

It's harder than Lauren expected to push away, and she paints a smile on her face as she pulls back from Evony. Evony leans forward ever so slightly, following Lauren's backwards movement, and suddenly an absurd rush of power makes Lauren unsteady on her feet. But she stays firm.

"Not on the first date, Evony. I'm not that type of girl."

There is a moment of excruciating tension where Lauren expects to either be grabbed and kissed again or to lose her job, her career, at Evony's hands. One just doesn't tease Evony Marquise. One especially doesn't kiss her, touch her, and leave her high and dry. Lauren's ready to be punched or cursed out or worse. But her conscience won't take no for an answer either.

She's taken aback when nothing happens as she expects.

There is something like respect on Evony's face when she tilts her head down and pulls her blazer back on. But she can't erase the marks that Lauren's made on her skin, or stop her ragged breathing. Lauren made sure she was responsible for that.

"You drive a hard bargain. But I suppose I have to be satisfied with that."

Lauren nods, too stunned by her own audacity (and Evony's reaction) to say anything.

"I'll be seeing you, Lauren Lewis."

Evony plants one last kiss on Lauren's jaw, then straightens her hair and leaves without a word of protest.

Lauren exhales and collapses into a chair. Her head is spinning and the room is still.

"Phew." She says out loud.

Then she thinks of Lachlan. He's a problem that Lauren's just solved.

Somehow, Lauren knows that this won't be the last time she'll be seeing Evony. But there's nothing she can do now but wait, and hope for the best.

Lauren sits up straight, pulls the lapels of her lab coat tightly around her body and smoothing it down over her stomach. She doesn't get much done for the rest of the day. Lachlan's report will just have to wait.

She texts Tamsin that she'll be home early.

* * *

When Tamsin arrives, the first thing she sees is the back of Lauren's head, wet from the shower, and a mug of tea on the table next to her.

"Hey!"

Lauren turns around to smile at her, and Tamsin can tell the exact instant that Lauren sees her arm in a sling, a half-melted bag of ice wedged between her arm and her side. Lauren nearly upsets the mug in her rush to get up, heading first for Tamsin and then immediately for the drawer with the first aid kit.

"My God, what happened?" she gasps, when Tamsin stumbles and sets her keys on the table, grimacing as the motion jostles her now slightly swollen arm.

"I decided to body slam a drug dealer."

"What?!"

"But I'm okay- I swear I'm okay. Nothing's broken. Paramedic tried to get me to the hospital, but I blew him off and came here instead. Don't you feel special?"

Lauren shoots her a look that says _don't even joke about this._

"He was right. Tamsin, you need professional care, not anything I can give you here."

"I'm seriously fine. I could lift a car right now." At Lauren's raised eyebrows, Tamsin slumps down on the couch and gingerly rearranges her injured limb on the armrest. "Okay, maybe not. But I could move it a little."

"I'm going to examine you, okay? Tell me if I'm pushing too hard."

Tamsin pulls off her jacket and offers up the arm for inspection. The ice has left a thin, wet film across the surface of a rapidly darkening area, and as Lauren's warm hands make feather light assessments across her skin, Tamsin shivers at the touch. Lauren's hair smells like some fruity shampoo, and every breath Tamsin takes is saturated with her.

The pain is there, hovering at the surface, but all she feels is relief that it's over, grateful that it hadn't been worse, and happy that she could sit and process everything now.

Lauren pulls away with worried eyes, her hands on Tamsin's shoulders as she peers into Tamsin's face for signs of pain.

"Tamsin, you really should have gone to a doctor. The only thing I can do for you is maybe more ice, but if something is seriously wrong-"

"Would you relax?" Tamsin laughs, managing to grab Lauren's wandering hands, stilling them. "I'm okay. And if it gets worse I'll tell you, but right now I'm okay."

Lauren forces her to ice it again anyway, and refuses to let her drink beer. When Tamsin reaches for her bag, Lauren slaps her hand away and grabs it herself.

"Are they making you go back to work tomorrow?"

Tamsin shakes her head, makes a face.

"I'm riding desk duty for a few days at least. But Vex gave me some reading material, for while I'm stuck still. I was planning on trying it later."

Sure enough, Lauren makes dinner that night and afterwards finds Tamsin sitting cross-legged in the armchair, chewing on the end of a pen. When she sees her, Tamsin sets her book across her face and slides slowly downwards, positioned partially on the couch and partially on the floor.

"Okay, not so good of a book?"

"No, worse."

"It can't be that bad, if its recommended reading."

"It's _Vex_. I'm surprised it isn't porn."

Lauren laughs.

"True, true. What's the topic?"

"Criminal psychology, microexpressions, facial profiling, stuff like that. It's supposed to help me catch more criminals, so…" Tamsin cracks an eye and rolls onto her side. The book flops shut on the floor.

"Ah, Ekman." Lauren says, with a hint of disdain in her voice. "I was never much into psychology. Harder science for me, thanks. I like seeing the actual, physical product of my experiments."

"Good to know you like it hard, doc." Tamsin snickers, as Lauren rolls her eyes in consternation. She so rarely gets the upper hand on Lauren's wit that it's a victory when she can make the doctor blush, and Tamsin makes a mark of success in her mental log.

"But anyway, that's not elitist at all." Tamsin says, flipping another page without reading it. Her injured arm brushes slightly against the ground, making her jump, and Lauren winces in sympathy.

"You wanna test me?"

"What?"

"C'mon, there's a set of guidelines right here. You look at a bunch of faces, and you have to say what emotion they're trying to suppress. It gives you a score at the end."

"No." Lauren says flatly.

"Hey, if you do it I'll quiz you on the bones of the human body or something . Don't doctors need to know those back to front?"

"Not my kind of doctor. And what are we, in grade school? I'm not sure I trust any scientific book that has a "do-it-yourself" section at all." Lauren curls her knees under her body and cocks a disinterested eyebrow.

"Just try it. Can't hurt."

Tamsin is insistent and actually resembles a bulldog at the moment with her resolution, and Lauren soon relents. She grabs the book and a spare pen.

"Fine, fine. But I'm telling you it's all circumstantial. No book can predict how someone feels. It's an imperfect science."

Tamsin waits quietly until Lauren is finished, then takes the book back for grading purposes. Her brow creases, she flips back, and does it again. Tamsin then flips to the front to make sure it's the right book.

"Well?" Lauren demands. Tamsin shows her the page.

"You got a four out of ten."

Lauren's mouth literally drops in dismay, and Tamsin bursts out laughing at the sight.

"Wait, let me guess; you haven't done that badly on any test since the third grade, have you?"

"No way! You totally messed something up."

"Hey, sore loser much! You missed them fair and square, Lewis, now own up to it!" Tamsin laughs, pushing Lauren's leg out of her face. Lauren snatches the book back and turns it every which way.

"I call bullshit. I repeat, there is _no way_ I did that badly."

Tamsin lauches herself with one arm off the floor and onto the couch,

"How are you this bad at reading people? You are a doctor, after all."

"And do doctors usually do well on this?"

"Yeah, bedside manner and all that. You're supposed to know when a patient is lying to you, apparently, about pain or discomfort." Tamsin reads absentmindedly, flipping through the blurbs at the back of the book. "And you're supposed to have amazing poker faces. Guess that doesn't pertain to you?"

"Maybe you don't know me as well as you think. I could be one of those psychopaths who sees the world in black and white, all the time. Maybe I'm fooling all of you right now."

Tamsin scoffs. "I've lived with you for months now, and I've never heard you tell a lie, even a white one."

"Can't always believe what you see." Lauren mumbles, trying hard to keep her face indignant and not guilty. Tamsin hasn't gotten to actually mind-reading yet, but somehow Lauren feels paranoid that she knows, and disapproves of her situation with Evony. They might be close, but telling your roommate that you're this close to hooking up with your boss for work favors? She's not sure that's ever appropriate conversation. Tamsin's opinion matters now.

"I mean, relationships are all about that, right? Communication and some shit. Maybe that's why you're still single, huh?"

_That_ hurts.

It knocks the air out of Lauren's throat for a moment. She'll be the first to admit her inexperience with people, with their intimate connections. But it hurts to hear it out loud, to hang unavoidably in the air in front of her. All Lauren can do is look away, hold her muscles still, and pretend like it doesn't bother her.

There's an underlying reason for all of this.

The painful, dim spectre of Bo still invades her thoughts sometimes. When it happens Lauren is always caught off guard, thrown back by the sight of a yellow Camaro or anyone mentioning her hometown. The only cure for it is to wait for it to pass, and brace for when she feels the memories climb back up from their banishment. Bo never rests, so neither can Lauren.

They both made mistakes and never apologized for them. Maybe that's why Tamsin sees something Lauren doesn't. But is it really that evident?

Lauren's musing is suddenly interrupted by Tamsin's sudden reshuffling of limbs, drawing herself closer to her. Her eyes are calm and remorseful.

"I'm sorry, doc. I didn't mean it that way, it was a stupid thing to joke about."

"No, no, it's okay. I get that you didn't mean any harm. And hey, you should talk, bachelorette of the year." Lauren replied, forcibly lighthearted. Tamsin doesn't buy it.

"Why are you defending me?" she demands, scooting even closer to their hands barely touch on the couch. "I've seen you do that. You _always_ do that."

"I-" Lauren stammers, "I'm not defending you. You made a mistake, and I acknowledged your apology. That's all."

"That's not enough. You gotta start standing up for yourself. At work to that asshole boss, to whoever fucked up your life before I've known you. Don't go easy on me, either, because I'm your roommate."

"Don't you think you're taking this a bit too seriously?" Lauren asks, incredulous. "It's just a stupid test."

Tamsin shrugs.

"I'm not talking about the test. Look, I'm not going to push you to say anything, and I'm sorry if I've dredged up bad memories for you. But you've got to stop thinking you can hold all the blame, doc. Spread it out. Give it to people who deserve it."

"You mean holding grudges."

"No, I mean letting them go. If it was ever worth holding, it's worth letting go, if you want to be at peace. And that takes more time than I've ever seen you give to it."

"You don't know that."

"You're right. Just talking out loud, feel free not to take it to heart." Tamsin replies, pushing back at Lauren's stubbornness.

"What about forgiveness?" Lauren leans back and crosses her arms. "Don't you believe in letting things go, starting from a sum zero? Isn't that the better option?"

Tamsin shakes her head.

"Not the same thing. The way I see it, you can forgive something but not forget it. Grow from it, learn from it, what have you, but don't let it leave your mind. It's something you decide to give, doc. No one gets it by default. No matter who they are."

Lauren ponders her words, then shakes her head and shoves Tamsin lightly in her good shoulder.

"When did you get so wise, yogi?"

Tamsin smiles.

"I've fucked up enough times in my life to have some things beaten into me. Can't have you following my footsteps."

Lauren leans over and picks the book back up. Tamsin watches as she tears out the do-it-yourself section at the back, folding her four-out-of-ten into squares and tossing it on the coffee table.

"You still okay, doc?'

Tamsin asks, draws her knees up to her chest, settles deeper into the couch cushions.

Lauren closes her eyes. She has a lot to think about.

"I'm fine."

* * *

She spends a sleepless night staring at her ceiling.

Ciara sees her in the morning, hungover and exhausted, and sets the entire coffee pot on Lauren's cubicle as they are preparing to enter the lab. Lauren nods her thanks, and Ciara waits until Lauren has poured a full cup and taken a sip.

"Long night?"

"Something like that." Lauren says, blowing a stray strand of hair out of her face. She's not in the mood to talk, so she just smiles and hands Ciara her lab coat, hoping she gets the message. Thank God, she does, and they silently begin their day.

Ciara's effectively her best friend, but this is something she needs to deal with alone.

Alone or with Tamsin.

Yet another way Tamsin has wormed her way into Lauren's life.

At the end of the day, when Lauren goes back to her desk to pack for home, a fresh envelope is placed on her desk. Inside is a copy of a transfer letter; Lachlan has been relocated from this lab to one on the opposite end of the city, effective immediately. He's out of her life. She never has to see him again, if she doesn't want to.

Lauren laughs out loud, even though there is no one to hear.

* * *

Time passes. Early summer melts into late summer.

Tamsin is soundly asleep when her phone tears through the apartment, ringing suddenly and loudly on her bedside table. After starting awake and flailing a little in the tangle of her sheets, Tamsin slaps around the wood until she hits plastic and raises her phone to her ear.

She keeps it on the highest volume possible because anything less won't stir Tamsin at all. She could sleep through an earthquake if she wanted to, but most times she doesn't have a choice.

Like tonight.

"Hello?" she mumbles, eyes still closed against the dark warmth of sleep.

"We're needed. Get out of bed."

"Vex?"

"This is a big one, love, all hands on deck. Lambert wants us down to station soon as possible, so get your ass out of bed."

"Did he say what for?" Tamsin mumbles back, rubbing at her eyes to make the grogginess go away. The room is pitch, with not even the slightest light penetrating the blinds, but the blinding glare of her screen more than compensates.

"Not a peep, only that it was serious. Said he'd tell us when we get there, and to say some kind words to any loved ones before you left. Better get going, darling."

Vex hangs up almost immediately, with no further information, but his words ring through Tamsin's ears until they actually absorb, bleed into her mind. She's needed.

This is the first time she's been called off shift. If they're asking for her at this time of night, it's serious.

Tamsin's eyes snap open and she hits the mattress with clenched fists. A headache starts to throb behind her temples, but she has bigger problems to worry about now.

"Shit." She hisses through her teeth.

But she doesn't think about any of it. She doesn't have time or the peace of mind to do so; Tamsin rolls out of bed with a single-minded intention. She grabs for the nearest undershirt and tugs in on over her head, dragging her uniform to the bathroom to change and quickly splash water on her face. Her mind is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

It's 3:00. Fifteen minutes, tops.

Tamsin looks into her mirror, the water running in rivulets down her face, and steels herself.

It's all going to work out okay.

Of all the moments that she's practiced for, she'd never considered the circumstances of how and why and where. It didn't matter, she went where needed. Focus, Tamsin. It's all going to work out okay, her mind chants, over and over again.

Tamsin makes it to the living room in record time, typing up her hair and straightening her collar, when a noise startles her from the corner. A lamp flickers to life.

"I heard your alarm."

Lauren is visible only by the light of the lamp, a dim half of her still shrouded in darkness, but Tamsin's chest lurches forward anyway. She can tell Lauren is sleepy but brave; her eyes droop but they stay open so she can keep rummaging through the bowl on their countertop. Tamsin's keys slide across the stone to her open hand.

"I thought I could help."

_You already have._

The words come from nowhere. They intrude on Tamsin's loose, disorganized thoughts, adding to the mess. It stops her dead in her tracks, even though she has to leave, now.

Suddenly, Tamsin realizes how much of this moment Lauren was responsible for. The starched uniform by her bed; that was Lauren. Her gun and badge and standard-issue police belt lined up nicely on her drawers; that was Lauren too. Lauren even helped her pick out the car whose keys Tamsin now holds in her hand, frozen in place against her side.

She knows what is happening from that stupid book; in psychology, they're called intrusive thoughts. Unusual, unwelcome, unpleasant. That's what's happening right now.

But Tamsin didn't think they would feel so real. Reflect what she was feeling so well.

And now Lauren's standing by the door, shoulders braced against the chill of the morning, her eyes worried and liquid and soft. Tamsin's jacket is in her hands.

"I didn't mean to wake you." Tamsin finally says, shoving her phone and keys into her pocket and walking over to where Lauren has moved. Her footsteps seem so loud, when Lauren is so quiet. Lauren just shrugs.

"I know only loud noises can get you up in the morning. It isn't your fault I'm the opposite. And I know, when duty calls…" She trails off, fidgeting with the dense fabric in her hands.

"Answer the phone?" Tamsin's eyebrows scrunch at the terrible joke. It's not even funny. It's a non-sequitur. Still, it makes Lauren smile, and the mild look of terror on her face begins to fade away.

"I wish. Do you know what the emergency is?"

"No. They won't tell me till I get there."

"Oh."

The possibilities run rampant in both of their minds. Tamsin doesn't need to ask if Lauren is thinking the same thing she is.

"So you don't know when you'll be back."

"No."

Tamsin has less than ten minutes now to get to the station and yet she can't move, stuck between her duty and her conscience. She has so many requests on the tip of her tongue, but they're too unbelievable to ask, too rife with bad answers and unknown repercussions. So instead, she takes the jacket from Lauren and puts it on slowly, wasting more precious seconds, but she couldn't care less.

A crisis could be occurring right this moment. A hostage situation, maybe. Dozens of lives in danger.

But Tamsin's feet seem bolted to the ground. Struck by this tugging in the core of her body that tells her to do something, anything, to relieve the pressure on her mind and her chest. It's unbelievable, how not in control of her body she is right now. The indecision- say something, don't say anything- brings her to a standstill.

It lasts until Lauren steps back from the door to let Tamsin pass.

"Just-" Lauren says, voice halting from tiredness or worry or something else, "-stay safe, okay? Come back in one piece."

Tamsin suddenly seizes Lauren's hand in both her own, squeezing hard like Lauren is mooring her to shore, and then releasing her quickly. If Tamsin didn't still feel the touch on her palms, moments after there is only air, she would think it never happened. That she never found the guts.

A heavy warmth settles in between them and Tamsin hopes she isn't making a mistake.

"I will." Tamsin says. "Thank you."

She turns and leaves.

* * *

**AN:** A super-long one to make up for my absence. You guys are the best.


	6. Chapter 6

When Tamsin leaves, Lauren holds her breath until she hears the car start and the gravel crunching under the wheels, gradually fading out to nothing as Tamsin drives away into the night.

Then it's just the buzz of crickets and the white noise of appliances to keep her company.

Lauren double-locks the door (Tamsin insisted on two locks- she had demonstrated, once, that she could pick the regular lock in less than a minute, and Lauren lives in fear of being burglarized for the next week) and turns off all the lights in the kitchen. Her breathing is almost loud enough, in the silence, to drown out the sound of the clock on the wall. It's still only three-thirty, but it seems like years since Tamsin's phone alarm woke her up.

So much has happened, she might as well call it a year.

Any sleepiness that Lauren felt is now long gone, and she paces around the carpet, aimlessly, before she realizes what she's doing and stops. There is no point to staying up; she might as well go back to bed. Get some rest while she can. Before she returns to her room, Lauren turns on a lamp on in the living room, light visible through the curtains.

The only other light comes from Tamsin's room, where the door has been left ajar. Passing it, Lauren can't help but peek inside. There are clothes scattered every which way, a blanket on the floor, and a foamy toothbrush on the dresser; Tamsin's not exactly known for tidiness, even if she can be forgiven this time.

Lauren, however, is. It's almost a neurotic habit of hers that things have to be in their right place, everything secure and stable. So Lauren picks up her clothes, remakes the bed, and rinses the toothbrush in the sink. She grabs the book Tamsin got from Vex and never returned (at least it's not completely useless) and uses it to prop the door open.

There. Now, when Tamsin returns, there will be light to see by and a clean room to come back too. That's Lauren's contribution to all of this madness.

But sleep evades her when she tumbles back under her covers. The ceiling suddenly becomes extremely interesting; she lays there, wide-eyed, staring at it with an intensity that makes shapes appear at the poles of her vision. It's not that she's wide awake; she's exhausted, and the tiredness is dragging her eyelids down, but sleep won't come. It teases her, just out of reach, and evades when Lauren grabs for it.

The room is too warm. Lauren ends up kicking her covers off, then dragging them back over herself in time for it to get hot again. She can't seem to get comfortable. The pillow is flat under her head.

After a half-hour of tossing and turning, Lauren throws her pillow across the room and collapses in exhaustion, her arms draped over the side of the bed.

The clinic is going to run her off her feet today. She's expecting a shipment of formaldehyde in the morning, and a tour of the facility for new med school students in the afternoon. Not to mention daily rounds, charts, and observation. If there's any day Lauren needs to be alert and focused, it's tomorrow, and here she is, completely and totally awake. This isn't good.

But nothing works, and when morning comes Tamsin isn't back and neither is Lauren's peace of mind, as she drags herself out of bed and into the shower. There's a distinct feeling of emptiness around her that even the hot water can't soothe, steaming against her skin.

After she's done, Lauren dries herself off and sighs out loud, her head in her hands as she sits back on her bed.

She's acting crazy. This is what housewives did when their husbands went off to war in the forties, not roommates who've known each other for six months.

Lauren tells herself that of course she's worried, Tamsin's important to her and the last thing Lauren wants is to see her dead or hurt. But there's a nagging voice, a little bubble of conscience that makes Lauren's eyes close to avoid thinking too far along her way. There's inherently a possibility of injury or death in Tamsin's job, without her running off into the dead of night.

And if Lauren lost her now-

She backs away from that line of questioning and goes downstairs, starting the coffeemaker and trying in vain to concentrate on her schedule for the day.

Nothing works. She sees Tamsin everywhere she looks. This space had been Tamsin's long before it had been Lauren's, and she can't look at anything and ignore the fact that none of it is really hers. It's foolish to be bothered by something so trivial, but something distinctly Tamsin remains in the apartment, reminding Lauren that everything here is a time capsule of the last time she saw Tamsin today, or ever.

The coffee is ready and Lauren pours it into a thermos, not realizing that that the liquid boiling hot until she jerks her hand away in pain.

It could also have just been a traffic stop. A broken streetlight at a busy intersection that needs attending to. Maybe some VIP is making his, her way through the city under the cover of darkness, for fear of assassination (Tamsin scoffed to her, once, that Very Important Prick is a more apt descriptor for some of the people she's had to guard), or a notorious informant whose comrades might seek to silence before trial. It's not necessarily dangerous. Tamsin's lived through all of it before.

Precedent is no comfort, though, as Lauren gathers her files in her arms. It sure doesn't mean shit to a doctor.

Fate holds the cards now.

The sun is out for the first time in days as Lauren leaves the apartment. It's a beautiful morning.

She drives with no mind for anything, until something happens to throw her back into reality. Lauren is stopped at a red light when an ambulance, sirens screeching, appears in her rearview mirror, and demands passage with the kind of desperation that Lauren understands. She maneuvers herself out of the lane and into the next, towards the curb, and the ambulance speeds by without a pause or second glance. Lauren tracks it with her eyes.

She should have just looked away.

Through the small double windows in the back, Lauren sees the momentary flash of a SWAT jacket. Standard issue, with police-uniform blue underneath. There's a police officer in there.

A sharp burst of fear comes quick and sudden, and the wheel in her hands suddenly becomes unbearably heavy, impossible to turn. Lauren just stares at the retreating, whirling lights as they pass. Years of medical knowledge has taught her the exact chemical balance that her body is trying to reach now, where panic and exhaustion mingle together so she's stiffened to the point of immobility but itching to move, to react.

It can't be.

A harsh honk interrupts her thoughts as an old man sticks his reddened, wizened face out his car window.

"Hey lady, get out of the lane!"

She's holding up two lanes of traffic. She should move.

It takes another second and a half for her to do so, because the next thought that enters her mind makes her hit her gas pedal and cut the old man off, pushing every red light and every speed limit on her way.

The ambulance is headed for her clinic. It's coming.

* * *

When Tamsin arrives at the police station, she throws her car into park and races inside, slipping through the doors just as Ryan Lambert comes to shut it. He looks at her, stern.

"About time, Skarsten."

"Sir." Tamsin replies. She doesn't bother to make excuse.

Ryan strides back to his podium as Tamsin looks around; a sea of police, a few SWAT jackets and a bomb squad are all standing in the corner. Vex is leaning against one wall, looking bored, but Tamsin sees his shoulders tense and his hands clench at his sides. She's not feeling great herself- despite all her assurances to Lauren, there's no assuaging the fear that twists her stomach. The creeping mortality breathing down her neck. She can't help it.

Her mind drifts.

_Lauren._

When Ryan goes up to the podium to speak, the whispers die down and all eyes turn to him.

"As you know, there's been a fuckton of people ODing on heroin in the latest quarter, on East Side and going all the way to the bay. We now know the reason why; some big-time dealer in the States is packing his units with some acidic compound to cut costs. This is toxic shit, people. The lab says it's deadly in even small amounts. Two of our officers-" he nods to Tamsin and Vex, "-caught a dealer a few weeks ago with a half-pound of the stuff on him. The freighter carrying the next pallet was supposed to be coming next month, but our informant has reported that plans have changed- they're moving it this morning, as soon as the shipyard opens at four. We have a few officers stationed there already- you are the backup."

He pauses for breath, and looks down at them, his face stone. No one moves, or breathes.

"You are to intercept the pallet and find the people responsible for bring it to our city. Get into your units, put on your gear, and good luck."

The ensuing rumble of assent is the only sound as everyone stands and readies themselves for the task before them. Gear is divided up and distributed, vests secured and guns strapped into holsters. Vex sidles up to Tamsin, a serious look on his face for once, and claps her on the shoulder.

"Looks like it's going to be a hell of a night."

As Tamsin walks out of the equipment locker, marching the middle of a veritable army of law enforcement, she fights to keep a level head. All around her, she watches her teammates preparing- Vex is silent, muttering silent words and rotating his wrist slowly, in small endless circles. She watches someone kiss a wedding ring before putting it into his locker. Someone else makes the sign of the cross and mutters prayers under his breath. Still others, like Tamsin, say nothing.

Who knows what they're all thinking? She has no idea.

Tamsin closes her eyes.

The man beside her- large, bushy sideburns and an unfortunate nose- meets her eyes when she opens them again, and Tamsin stares back. She knows his first name is Bill but his last slips her mind. His eyes shine as they size her up. He knows what she's doing.

He straightens his SWAT vest, readjusts his gloves.

"Anything to make it easier."

He walks away before Tamsin can say anything.

Instead, she goes back to staring at nothing and thinks about Lauren, safe and asleep back at the apartment. Remembers the look on her face, of words blurted out in her mind but not her mouth. Tamsin lets every thought she'd stopped herself from thinking come to the surface. She'll get all her thinking out of the way now, while she can do it properly.

She won't bring Lauren into whatever hell she was headed into. Her mind would empty; she would concentrate on the job, get it done, get out. That's how it should be.

But until then, Lauren takes up every inch of space in her mind.

There had been a moment of sudden clarity between them before Tamsin left. It was undeniable. She's not positive when she started seeing Lauren with this fresh pair of eyes, but that matters less than when Tamsin stopped seeing her as a burden and more like a necessity.

That hits her more abruptly than any phone call. For whatever insane, cruel reason, she needs Lauren; and the implications of that are terrifying. In whatever context.

_Lauren, be safe._

They go in silent carloads, unmarked, and stop before the shipyard is even in sight to walk the last few blocks. The owners of the shipyard, terrified for their own skins, have allowed them full access to any part of the area, and Tamsin finds herself pressed against a wall within sight of the gates. There's a distinct lack of sound as they get into position. It's a quarter to four.

She sees the outline of the first truck begin to slowly roll in, accompanied by the familiar engine noise and clang of iron gates. Some babbling in scattered French as the first truck of the morning rolls inside, and several disguised officers walking up to intercept the driver.

Someone yells as he is dragged from the driver's seat, struggling. Tamsin's throat constricts.

Suddenly, an explosion tears the top of the eighteen-wheeler's roof, spraying scraps of metal in every direction. Tamsin covers her head and drops to the ground just in time as screaming breaks out, and pattering footsteps sound all around her. Metal crashes nearby. Tamsin covers her mouth, coughing as the resulting dust cloud envelops her, fumbling madly for her gun. But there's nothing to shoot at, nothing to do except wait as all hell breaks loose around her.

Guns go off. Tamsin doesn't know which side they're coming from.

There's chaos- the dust clears and she's suddenly out in the middle of the floor, with no cover, and just manages to get her senses about her to dive behind the nearest pillar. There's a human form nearby.

Bill. Is he alive?

She hears garbled screaming, and Ryan's commanding yell, and the sound of metal hitting metal. Tamsin watches flames lick at the burnt-out shell of the wheeler, and blood splatter across the floor.

There is no time. The resulting crash has unsettled the ceiling beams, rattling the floor and the walls. Fuck, fuck, the entire ceiling is coming down-

Tamsin scrambles for cover, tripping over a concrete block in her haste to escape. There is no fear; this is more carnal than that, pure survival instinct taking over where reason cannot. She dives and rolls behind a storage container that looks stable. A crane is balanced a little ways away, the steel chain holding a metal beam dangling precariously by one remaining link.

Bill is standing right under it.

Tamsin doesn't think of anything when she lunges forward.

She grabs him by the back of the vest and just sits down, hitting the ground and taking Bill with her. The projectile misses him by an inch, steel tip embedded in the cracking concrete, showering them both in fragments of rock. When the dust clears, and Tamsin rolls to her feet, the steel beam is still quivering with the force of impact. Two inches more and they would have both been dead.

Bill looks at her, stunned, his mouth open. Tamsin just struggles to stand. Minutes pass as the aftershocks of the explosions still, the ground returning to its stable state.

Ryan's voice is yelling her name.

"Skarsten!

The screaming has stopped.

"Skarsten, are you there?"

Tamsin coughs through the dust. "Yeah, I'm here! I'm with Bill!"

A pair of arms reaches down over the container and the rubble on top, lifting the two of them up. The scene, when Tamsin clambers over and rolls to her feet, is a mess . Cops run to and fro, radios crackling and guns out. Five or six people are up against the wall, handcuffed, some bleeding. Tamsin sees bodies on the ground, slowly spreading blood soaking their hair and hands.

Ryan's uniform is torn and bloody, fists trembling in fury as he inspects the contents of the trailer.

"Fuck! It's missing, why the hell was a fucking bomb in there?! It was probably already distributed before it came in, shit. Son of a bitch!"

He breathes like a bull as the sounds of fire trucks begin to come closer. An ambulance is already there, maneuvering into place beside them. Tamsin puts her hands on her knees and waits for her heart to stop trying to escape her chest.

She can't see Vex.

"I need someone to ride with Chamberlain to the hospital." Ryan lowers his voice, motioning to a man Tamsin thought was dead on the ground. "I'll send the next ambulance with the others, but he's the worst off right now."

"I'll do it." Tamsin says immediately, hopping into the back. Chamberlain looks up at her with blank, huge eyes, and Tamsin can't help but see the blood soaking his chest and neck. Some of it has dripped onto her knee, where she's crouched next to him, and Tamsin tries in vain to look away .

A medic pushes her out of the way as the doors close, and they begin to move.

* * *

Lauren rushes into the clinic, late, and too shaky to do anything but mumble an apology to Ciara. Heads poke out from fume hoods when she enters and almost immediately knocks a piece of glassware over, breaking with a crash on the linoleum floor.

Ciara takes her by the elbows and steers her away, into the hall Lauren just entered from. Lauren puts her palms together and breathes into them, deep.

"Lauren? Are you okay?"

Lauren's head jerks up and she looks at Ciara fiercely enough for the other woman to step back.

"Okay, you're starting to scare me now. Tell me what's wrong."

"I need you to go down to the ER."

"What-"

"There was an ambulance. I saw it coming, I think I beat it here, I need to you to find it. You have authorization that I don't."

"Why are you so worried? Did you see who it was?"

"Tamsin-" The sound of the name leaving her lips makes Lauren stop for breath. "It might have been Tamsin. She left this morning, you need to find her if she's here."

Ciara puts calming hands on her shoulders and steers her into the hall, but Lauren refuses to budge. She can't be sure, but there was a blonde head of hair inside the ambulance, she swears. If it was Tamsin, she has to know.

She has to.

Ciara must see the desperation in her voice, because she nods at the same pace Lauren talks, her hand already reaching towards the pager clipped to her waist.

"I'll find her, okay? If she's here. But I've never seen her before, I don't know what she looks like."

"She's blonde." Lauren blurts out. God, she feels like she's having a heart attack. "Blonde, green eyes, taller than me." _Beautiful. Brave._ "She's a female cop, okay, you'll be able to find her. Please, just do this one thing for me and I'll never ask you for anything again."

"Alright, I said I would and I mean it. Just wait here." Ciara looks at her for a long minute, clearly confused, but she grabs her clipboard and exits the room anyway.

Lauren looks about, dazed, and wanders from lab bench to lab bench until she finds her own, in the corner, and sits shakily on the stool. She sets her forehead against the cool tabletop as she fights to regulate her breathing.

"Oh, God." She whispers.

She's not a praying woman. But she hopes.

* * *

Tamsin has never seen a man die before. She thinks for one panicked moment that she might, when Chamberlain begins to choke on his own blood and the two paramedics yell instructions to each other as equipment changes hands at a pace she can't keep up with. But he pulls through- at least, they don't give up- and Tamsin gets to feel hopeful instead of angry for another minute as they pull up to the hospital.

She's ushered into an empty waiting room while they rush Chamberlain away to some unknown wing of the hospital. They promise Tamsin news as soon as they get it, so Tamsin sends a quick text to Ryan and Vex (who still hasn't surfaced, apparently) before sitting down to wait.

Tamsin hates hospitals. She's said it before and she'll say it again; they make her skin crawl as soon as she smells the disinfectant and sees the sobbing families in the hallways. She can appreciate the good they do, but an aura of death hangs around each one. No one, not even Lauren, can change that part of them.

A high-heeled woman, dressed in clothes more suited for a movie set than a hospital, walks in and stops when she sees Tamsin. Something tells her that this isn't the doctor, but she stands anyway. Something unspoken compels her to.

A nurse comes rushing in, clearly intimidated, and gestures wildly with a clipboard in her hands. Tamsin notes that the woman never looks towards her.

"Miss Marquise, it's the police, there was an explosion downtown. We have around five casualties coming here."

_Five._ Tamsin's chest sinks. The woman- Evony, apparently, takes a long, hard look at her sitting there, and Tamsin suddenly feels like an insect pinned to cardboard as Evony walks forward, her hand held out. Standing, they are the same height, but Tamsin feels shorter. She doesn't like it.

"My condolences to you, officer. I can assure you that every one of your companions will get the best of care here, however. We have the best surgeons working on your friend now." She says, stiffly and politely. Tamsin shakes her hand, thanks her, and watches Evony turn on her heel and leave.

The experience is unsettling. Tamsin has to get up and pace for a few minutes before she can sit down again.

The next time she's interrupted, it's by someone calling her name. Her head snaps up, intrigued- the British accent isn't any she recognizes. The same can't be said for the woman who steps inside, looking worried and elated at the same time.

"I'm Tamsin."

"Sorry- Lauren was looking for you, she told me to tell her if you arrived. Lauren Lewis?"

Shit. This is Lauren's hospital? Tamsin feels her mind begin to race again as she tries to imagine what to say to her, what to do. Does Lauren think she's the one who's hurt?

_Oh, no._

"Yeah- yeah, Lauren? How does she know I'm here?"

The woman shakes her head and motions her into the hallway.

"She doesn't, but I heard the alarms and some of our doctors were called away for an emergency. Your name was listed along with Officer John Chamberlain's. Here, come next door into the family room. It'll give you two some privacy. I'm Ciara, by the way."

The rush of information makes Tamsin's head whirl, but Ciara doesn't even seem fazed. Lauren is probably the same way; the profession demands it.

"Tamsin Skarsten. And thank you."

Ciara nods and runs off again to get Lauren, presumably, leaving Tamsin alone. She sits in a chair- stiff, plastic, uncomfortable- and waits.

When Lauren half steps, half falls into the waiting room where Tamsin is waiting, there is a moment where neither of them do anything. For a long moment they just stare at each other; Lauren looks exhausted, worry etched into even the deepest laugh lines that she possesses, and any little thing looks like it would be too much for her to carry. Her face just stills when she lays eyes on Tamsin, and something about it breaks every ounce of reserve Tamsin was keeping hidden.

Lauren makes the first move and Tamsin isn't far behind, but they sort of meet together on the threshold of the room, and Lauren grabs her and squeezes so tightly that she can barely breathe. The soreness in her back and sides protest by sending shooting pains down her torso, but Tamsin couldn't care less.

"Sorry." Lauren says, without moving. "I'm sorry."

"You're okay, you're fine." Tamsin murmurs against her hair. She breathes in the smell of Lauren's perfume, faint from being applied that morning, and smiles despite the circumstances that have brought her here. The first time they hug, it's in a dark waiting room with the world going to hell around them, and Tamsin can't imagine it any different.

"I should be asking you that." Lauren says, pulling back but only barely, enough to see her face out of the corner of Tamsin's eye. Blonde hair is draped in Tamsin's mouth and across her face. Lauren is literally surrounding her.

Tamsin takes that moment to look beyond Lauren's shoulder, just in time to see Ciara smiling from the hallway, and then the door swings shut.

Lauren takes another step back to look Tamsin over. There is blood on her knees, and across her pants legs, that has now transferred to Lauren's scrubs. It's dark and still wet. Lauren gasps.

"It's not mine." Tamsin says, hurriedly, when Lauren looks like she might drop to her knees and try to staunch the nonexistent bleeding. "I rode here with another officer, he's in surgery right now. I wasn't hurt."

Lauren searches her face for any deception, her fingers still gripping Tamsin by the shoulders. Nothing really makes any sense to Tamsin except that boundaries have been crossed, and the urge to lean down and kiss the worry off Lauren's face is nearly overpowering. Can she-does she have any right to? What are they now, after this morning and after all of this?

Lauren's always been a little unreadable but now she's a veritable stone fortress, refusing to stop holding Tamsin but not making any move to speak. The words on Tamsin's tongue are right there, but she'll only say them if she gets a sign that they're welcome.

"Thank God." Lauren finally breathes out, looking down. "I thought-"

"Hey." Tamsin says, gently, throwing caution to the wind and taking Lauren's hands in her own. "I'm fine, okay? Whatever you're thinking, stop- I'm okay."

Lauren, awkwardly, squeezed tight to Tamsin's fingers and breaks away from her completely, still close but distinctly separate now. The atmosphere shifts; Lauren seems almost embarrassed now, looking away from Tamsin's eyes.

"Thank you. For coming. I was worried, but I-I'm going to try not to be, now."

Suddenly, Tamsin's phone buzzes at her hip. She doesn't need to look at it to know who it is.

"Listen, I have to go- I was only supposed to accompany one of the wounded here."

Lauren's face falls and Tamsin rubs a hand across the back of neck to stop herself from reaching out again. "There's still so much we don't know, and I need to write up a report and sift through a bunch of evidence. I don't want to, but it's procedure."

Lauren nods.

"Of course. Go where you're needed. I'll keep you updated on Officer Chamberlain."

Tamsin nods, mirroring Lauren, and latches on for one more surprise hug before disentangling herself and heading for the door. She looks back once.

"We're looking for the guys behind all of this, but our labs say that there's some toxic substance being mixed into the heroin coming in. Some people have died already. Between you and me, get ready for a lot of poisonings and the like, and try to record any repeat reactions."

Lauren, ever the doctor, looks intrigued. "Do you know what substance it was? It would help in treating the symptoms when they come in."

"I have no idea, but I'll see if I can get you the lab results." Tamsin chews on her lip. "We're trying to keep this quiet, so don't tell anyone, okay?"

Lauren almost looks offended that she would even ask. "You can trust me, Tamsin."

Tamsin knows.

"I know."

Lauren walks with her out of the room, and holds her still when Tamsin tries to leave.

"Stay safe. "

This was just a brief encounter. Tamsin has to hope that they'll get their chance again, today, when they can properly work this out. Lauren just stands there with her hands limp at her sides, beautiful in scrubs and frazzled nerves, and Tamsin will have her chance.

Tamsin smiles at her, as comfortingly as she can, and nods.

"I will."

* * *

Lauren's day has turned to shit.

Tamsin had been right- not three hours after she'd left Lauren in the hallway, a longtime junkie had turned up with blown pupils, coughing up blood before passing out in the middle of the emergency room. They'd had to move fast to avoid alarming the other patients, but even that minute is enough to send rumours swirling through the halls. Media have shown up at the doors, and every intern has been dispatched to prevent them from gaining access at any cost. Her research projects have been put on hold while they deal with the current crisis, and every news report on every television she walks by shows instant replays of the explosion at the storage facility. There is no time to rest from her sleepless night or eat anything more than copious amounts of coffee, but all of that's manageable; a sort of nervous energy fuels her to get her work done and get through the day, and Lauren feels like she might throw up if she tries to eat anything now. All normal functions have ceased; the blood in her veins seems to have turned to lead. Robotically, she does sutures, watches vital functions, completes charts. There is nothing else.

"Lauren, do you have a minute?"

Lauren looks up from the computer and sees Ciara, sticking her head out from the door of the lab. Her friend's eyes are weary.

"I'm sorry, I don't. I have to get these filled out before five." Ciara looks at something in the hall, then turns back with something like panic on her face.

"It's Evony, she wants to see you. I don't think she'll take no for an answer."

"I can't deal with her right now." Lauren bursts out. At Ciara's upset step backwards, she rubs her brow and softens her tone. "I'm sorry, I really can't meet with her, ok? Just- tell her I'm not here."

Ciara still looks skeptical.

"She knows you're here, she saw you earlier today. So basically, you're asking me to lie to her face."

"Ciara. Please."

Ciara reluctantly withdraws, and Laure hears the muffled arguments with her boss and her friend drift through the closed door. After a minute or two, Ciara slips back inside and advances on her, arms crossed. Lauren refuses to look up.

"We need to talk."

"We don't, actually. I need to get this report done first."

"You owe me for just telling _Evony Marquise_ she couldn't see you, when she knows that you're here. Now I'm calling in the favor."

Lauren doesn't answer.

"Lauren!"

Resigned, Lauren removes the slides from the microscope and turns to the determined woman now sitting beside her.

"Fine. What is so urgent that we need to talk right this moment?"

Ciara arches an eyebrow and points in the direction of the ER. Lauren has a distinct feeling that she knows what's coming, but refuses to say anything to advance the conversation any more than she has to.

"Your roommate. Tamsin. What happened there in the conference room?"

"What do you mean, what happened? I was glad that she was alive, so I asked you to look for her."

"Bullshit. That's not what I saw."

"Oh? What, pray tell, did you see?"

"I saw someone almost frantic to find you when I told her you were worried about her. I saw you running through the halls of this hospital to get to someone you've rarely spoken about to me. The way you looked at each other; I could've gone in and shoved you two apart, and you'd just go right back to each other without noticing me. That's what I saw."

Lauren pales.

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know exactly what I'm talking about."

"Tamsin and I are friends, okay? She's my roommate, and I repeat: I was happy that she was alive, for Christ's sake. Wouldn't you be happy if you thought I was ust and viola, it turned out I wasn't? This isn't anything to get worked up over?"

Ciara pushes on, insistent.

"Why are you getting so defensive about this?"

"I'm not getting defensive!" Lauren practically yells. The stress of the day has finally gotten to her; there's only so much emotional and physical whiplash a person can take before there has to be a release of some kind. "She's my friend, my only friend except for you, and I'm not going to lose her because I can't-"

She falls silent because she's said entirely too much, and no amount of ignorance can block out what she's just confessed. Ciara's sudden understanding makes it infinitely worse.

"Oh, Lauren."

"It doesn't matter." Lauren mutters, turning away so Ciara can't see the moisture beading in her eyes. It's a stupid time to cry. She refuses to do it.

"Of course it matters. Lauren, I know you're not blind. You have to know she feels something for you."

"I don't even know if she likes women, and even then, she's never made any indication that she wants me, of all people. She's had plenty of opportunity to make a move, and she hasn't. Please, just drop it."

Ciara drops it for all of two seconds.

"We have five officers here in critical condition. Plus another person who died today, in that shipping yard. You're really going to stay silent, knowing all that?"

"Stop playing with my emotions." Lauren hisses, resisting the urge to run from the room. "This is an extreme situation, and I'm not going to let it guide me into some impulse decision that I'm going to regret later. We're adults, and we'll work it out like adults. It shouldn't matter that she's a cop, just like it doesn't matter that I'm a doctor."

"It shouldn't, but it does. Lauren, if that's what stopping you from at least trying, then you're not acting like an adult. Adults adapt to the situation; they don't avoid it and hope it'll change. Tamsin's in danger sometimes; okay. All the more reason you need her, and she needs you."

"She left. If she needed me so damn badly why isn't she here?"

Ciara sighs and pushes her hair out of her eyes. Lauren would hate her for doing this if she wasn't so damn honest.

"I don't know much about Tamsin-"

"-neither do I." Lauren finishes, fiddling with the knobs on the microscope to avoid looking at Ciara. She feels caged, backed into a corner with her hands tied while Ciara swings at her with fists of iron.

"-but she cares about you. And she won't make a move until you give her some indication. Don't let this slip away, damnit. I've known you for years now and I've never seen you as happy as you looked when she walked in. She was distraught when I told you were looking for her, that you thought she was hurt. That has to mean something."

"It's harder than you think. It's even harder for people like me. Some of us- we just don't fall into relationships like that." Lauren chokes out. Her heart has already been boarded up, as far as she's concerned. Meeting Tamsin doesn't change any of that.

She's lying, of course, but there's no one to call her out on it. No one to call her bluff.

"What's so hard about falling in love?"

That word takes Lauren's breath away, even as she sucks in a lungful of air to disguise her sudden reaction. She thinks of Tamsin, and then Ciara, and sees the difference. Ciara is her friend; Tamsin is something more.

And try as she might, she can't ignore that anymore.

* * *

Tamsin returns to the police station and is immediately swamped.

They had telephoned her, directed her to Chamberlain's wife's workplace to inform her that her husband was clinging to life. Fuck. If escorting a sobbing woman and her terrified children to a hospital wasn't draining enough, Tamsin inquires and learns that Lauren is upstairs, working on another officer. No one from her unit was hurt, but it's still sobering to hear.

When she gets back to the station, Ryan is there to greet her with several other stern policemen. There's an interview, where Tamsin is sat down in front of the police commissioner and questioned on the events of the morning, repeatedly and in great detail as if Tamsin would remembers something new each time.

Like hell. Things get blurrier with each recall.

She holds no secrets that she can give away. Her questioner realizes it at about the fourth run-through, and when Ryan Lambert barges in to whisper in his ear, he pats her on the back and lets her out.

Her star has risen, for some apparent reason. As if she cares.

Tamsin stumbles into the locker room. The sudden darkness, when faced with the bright fluorescent light of the interrogation room for hours, drains something from her limbs and Tamsin collapses on the bench with her hair and her mind in disarray. The women's lockers are much smaller and more often abandoned than the men's; something that Tamsin can appreciate now. If she could get the energy to ponder it, anyway.

She strips her pants off, coated with dried blood, and changes into a fresh pair. Her belt comes off, as does her uniform shirt. She stares blankly at her locker before remembering the combination and spinning it to store everything away.

Maybe that's what she needs right now. To shut down completely, push it all down so she can get through the rest of the day. Dimly she remembers Lauren telling her that such things aren't healthy, but it's a lot easier to forget someone when they aren't standing in front of you, so Tamsin closes her eyes and lets everything escape her.

_God, what a day._

Tamsin gets another surprise about a half-hour later, when she rouses herself from her doze against the lockers and leaves, her things in a bag and her neck aching, to find Bill

He looked like hammered shit- changed into civilian clothes and fresh from an interview, no doubt. When he sees Tamsin his clenched fists get tighter.

"Hey."

Tamsin lets the bag swing onto her shoulder.

"Hey."

"Some of the other officers in CID are going out for drinks tonight. Something low-key, to fight back against this shit day. You in?" He asks, gruffly, holding out a cigarette even though they're still in the building.

Tamsin starts. She's never been invited to any of the officer gatherings before, being regaled to drinking alone as the rookie of the group. This is unexpected. She refuses the cigarette.

"Yeah, sure. Later tonight?"

Bill nods.

"I'll call you. Your friend Vex gave me your number earlier."

"Vex isn't my friend." Tamsin blurts out, half out of relief that the pain in her ass is at least still alive and half out of annoyance that he's giving her number out blindly, to strangers.

Bill's lips curl into a thin smile.

"He is a little bit squirmy, isn't he? See you later, Skarsten." With that, he disappears through a side corridor, leaving Tamsin standing in the hallway.

She shakes her head and heads out to her car. Home, or Lauren? The choice is obvious, and Tamsin turns in the direction of the hospital as soon as she pulls out of the parking lot.

* * *

The waiting room is crowded with reporters and cameras when Tamsin arrives- the press, obviously, have smelled a story and have descended like wolves to get the latest scoop on it. She's suddenly grateful she's changed into civilian clothes as she fights her way to the front desk, inquiring about Lauren.

"Tamsin!"

It's Ciara again. Tamsin waves and walks up to her, pushing people out of the way. No shame.

"You're looking for Lauren?"

"Yeah." Tamsin says, looking up and down the halls. "Is she still here? I can't get her on the phone."

"She's up on the tenth floor. She goes there when there's been a stressful day, you know how she is."

Tamsin shakes her head, a sudden sadness taking hold of her. Ciara looks like she wishes she could take it back.

"I didn't know, actually. But thanks for telling me."

Ciara gives her directions to the room Lauren is in, and swipes her card to allow Tamsin access to the staff elevator.

"Oh, Tamsin?"

Tamsin stops the elevator doors from closing.

"I know this sounds a bit weird, but Lauren's the kind of person who needs a push to get her to face her own demons. I'm not saying to force her into anything, but just don't give up, okay?"

Before Tamsin can question her further, Ciara leaves and the doors close.

She makes it all the way to the upper floor and around the corner without seeing Lauren, but then there's a lab coat and a head of blonde standing on the skywalk facing the city, floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting Lauren's still face.

Tamsin walks up to her and stops a good foot away. Lauren doesn't react.

"I wanted to go on the roof, but everything's locked. This was the best I could do."

All Tamsin can think of to say is, "It's nice."

She can see the whole city from up here, but the windows shield them from its noise and breeze. They are encapsulated in the bubble of the hospital, held still and quiet.

"It's stupid."

Tamsin looks harder at the windows. "Well, I guess it's sorta excessive, but-"

"Not the windows." Lauren looks at her, completely, and Tamsin joins her. "This, you, me. It's stupid. You're the one who had to go through today with a gun in your hand. I should be the one comforting you, not the other way around."

Tamsin drums her hands along the guardrail as Lauren spits the words out with surprising ferocity. The faintest traces of self-reproach lace her voice.

"I haven't done any comforting yet. And to be honest, you're a little off the mark if you think you haven't helped me through all this."

Lauren snorts.

"I met you in the waiting room. That hardly counts as exceptional friendliness."

"But you were looking for me. No one's exactly done that for me before, and I appreciate it."

Lauren rests her chin on her folded hands, against the railing.

"I'm not looking for reassurances that I did enough today, or anything. That's not why I'm talking to you about this. Or why I'm up here."

"I know."

"The man you came in with- Chamberlain. He had three bullets and a piece of shrapnel in his abdomen. Extensive bleeding had to be stopped before we put him under, we applied around five liters of blood to make up for what he lost. There was a T9 burst fracture near the spinal canal, but it wasn't too badly damaged to save, and we didn't have to perform a lobectomy. There were complications with the peripheral vascular resistance that often accompanies shock, but the entrails were complete and-"

Tamsin holds up a hand to stop her. She hasn't eaten all day and even then, her stomach is threatening to revolt.

"Okay, okay. Why are you telling me this, exactly?"

"I'm processing. This is how I process."

"Well, you can process anything involving 'entrails' on your own, thank you." Tamsin says. The summer sun is starting to set, and it's magnificent when viewed from this vantage point, standing with Lauren and with no solid walls blocking the hues of pinks and oranges from surrounding them both. "Don't normal people process by going out and getting drunk, or something?"

"If they're still alive to get drunk, yes. It's a very common reaction to near-death experiences."

"And you get that I'm still alive, right?"

Lauren whips her head around and crosses her arms across her chest.

"Don't do that."

"What?"

"Act like this is trivial for me. This isn't, Tamsin. You almost fucking died today."

Okay, Lauren may be angry, but that doesn't mean Tamsin can't be too. This entire day has been a reminder that she's grateful for living, and able to be with Lauren again, and here is the woman in question refusing to do the same.

"Believe me, I know. And I'd appreciate it if you'd act like I was, because from where I'm standing it's like my funeral already happened and you're putting fucking flowers on my grave. I'm alive, Lauren. If you really want to comfort me at least try to celebrate that."

Lauren is taken aback. Her cheeks turn pinker than the sunset and she grimaces for a second as Tamsin glares at her. After a moment she deflates, visibly.

"You're right, I'm sorry."

Lauren doesn't offer anything else.

Tamsin breathes hard through her nose, searching for the correct words to say. They could go around and around like this in circles and get nowhere. Tamsin has no doubt of that. But Ciara's words come back to mind; just don't give up.

"We're going to do something."

"We are?" Lauren asks, surprised.

"Yeah. You want to be there for me, so take a few days off work. We're getting the fuck out of this city and we're going to do something."

"Like what?"

"I don't know, something fun. It's summer, there's bound to be something interesting happening. And I think we deserve it after a day like today."

Lauren slips her hands into the pockets of her lab coat.

"You were right about the tainted heroin. We got two cases this afternoon, both of them need intensive care. I don't think I can hack leaving now."

Tamsin shrugs.

"Then we'll plan for next week, or the week after that. We have all the time in the world."

Lauren looks back out over the city and Tamsin can tell she's entering some part of her memory that Tamsin isn't privy to, something that makes her hesitate when answering.

"Yeah."

Tamsin moves closer and punches her on the arm. Lauren starts and looks distinctly offended.

"What?"

"I hope you know you're paying for it. The trip, I mean."

It's been so long since she's seen Lauren grin that it almost trips her up when she sees it.

"The roommate agreement said we'd split things fifty-fifty. Going back on your word now, Skarsten?"

They fall so easily back into this that Tamsin can almost believe that nothing's changed.

"Hey, you make three times my salary, you can stand to pay for extras."

"I'm an intern and a student! I have loans! Three times, my ass."

Lauren is laughing, finally. When Tamsin sidles out of the room, Lauren is right behind her.

* * *

They drive home together, in their separate cars, and Lauren stays at stoplights she could have gone through so Tamsin will always be behind her. The honks and yelling are worth it.

It's oddly comforting to watch Tamsin collapse on the couch like she always does, when they get home, and after kicking off her boots and taking off her jacket Tamsin looks a lot smaller, a lot more human.

Lauren steps into the kitchen and realizes that she's starving, having not eaten all day. There's a pizza waiting to be reheated in the refrigerator, so Lauren dishes what's left onto plates and settles on the couch beside Tamsin, putting the plates on the coffee table and letting Tamsin's legs settle over her lap. Tamsin cracks one eye but doesn't move.

"Tell me if I'm crushing you."

Lauren nods and puts a plate on Tamsin's stomach. Somehow, the woman manages to chew and swallow while lying down, swigging gulps of water that would cause any normal person to choke. Lauren shakes her head.

She points the remote at the television and turns up the volume. The X Files are on.

* * *

Night has well and truly fallen now, and the only light in the room is the blue square of the television, drenching the room in shadow. Tamsin hasn't been watching the television for a while now; her eyes are trained on Lauren. The doctor's eyes are drooping, as they have for the last episode, falling closed for an instant before she jerks herself back awake and retraining on the television. Tamsin has to stifle a laugh.

"You know, you can go to bed, doc. You're practically asleep."

Lauren stiffens when Tamsin voice breaks through Mulder's calm analysis of the crime scene.

"They haven't found out who abducted the pastor yet." She mumbles.

"Since when do you care?"

"Since the pastor revealed himself to be the last member of the stonemasons, now shut up." Tamsin genuinely laughs when Lauren glares at her for questioning her dedication, even though her legs have gone numb across Lauren's lap and there's a crick in her neck. It's a little bit strange and a little bit perfect.

Just then, Tamsin's phone buzzes on the coffee table. Neither of them miss Lauren's sudden stiffening at the sound, or the way her grip on Tamsin's legs suddenly tightens, cutting off her circulation further.

"Hey, hey-" Tamsin sits up fully, setting one hand on Lauren's shoulder. There is room for her to shuffle closer to Lauren as they wait for the alarm to die down. Then it's just a gentle limbo between them as Tamsin explains. "That's just Bill, from work. I told him I'd meet him for drinks with the rest of the division tonight. It's a cop thing."

It's not really a cop thing so much as a "thanks for saving my life" thing, but when Lauren looks at her with the slightest tremble on her lips Tamsin considers leaving Bill's ass at whatever bar he's planned to meet at. She'd stay if Lauren asked her to.

Lauren doesn't, putting on the brave face Tamsin's come to expect from her before letting Tamsin's legs drop back onto the floor. She dusts the crumbs off her shirt before curling onto one arm of the couch to continue watching

"Come back soon, okay? I want to start planning that trip tomorrow."

Tamsin groans, loudly, as she puts her coat over her shoulders. Knowing Lauren, there will be an iternerary for Tamsin to approve of before sunrise tomorrow.

"Okay, if I'm conscious at a decent time tomorrow. Enjoy the rest of the episode." She hesitates at the door. "Just us next week, right?"

Lauren smiles at her, radiant. "Of course."

Tamsin leaves with her heart in her throat.

* * *

The bar is loud, as bars are-full of smoke and the clack of pool balls gliding and colliding across felt. Dim music drifts through lulls in the noise sometimes, but mostly it's full of voices and laughter, with a distinct smell of liquor saturating every space. It's a cop bar, so everyone is wearing a badge or a cap or a uniform of some kind, and Tamsin is recognized.

Tamsin's never been at here before. When nobody holds the door open for her but everyone offers to buy her a beer, she looks around and sees Bill in the corner, nursing his own drink and nodding slowly in her direction once Tamsin catches his eye.

She suddenly realizes that this entire day has been a test, a terrible, spontaneous test, and she's passed with flying colors. It's odd, to be included in a group she never wanted to be part of, but not unwelcome. This is how survival works; those who don't adapt, die. Or simply stay lucky.

Tamsin straddles the bar stool next to Bill and raises her hand for the bartender.

Whiskey is Bill's drink of choice too, and they sip and wince and drum their fingers along the sticky countertop together. This is the longest time Tamsin's taken to polish off a whiskey in years, and it tastes different- sharper, deeper, less malt and more bitterness. She can't decide if she likes it or not.

When she finishes, she asks for another. Bill blocks her hand, before sliding a twenty to the bartender with a look that says don't you dare. Tamsin accepts the drink anyway, when it comes.

"You really don't have to." She mutters, studying Bill up close for the first time. He seems older than he was in the morning, each wrinkle carved deeply into his face.

"Just take the damn drink." He playfully glares at her. "Or have you hit your limit already?"

Oh, so that's how they're going to play this.

Tamsin growls and throws back the contents of her glass, before reaching over and downing his too, without missing a beat. She spins the glass around her fingers in triumph.

"Just thought I'd keep pace with you, protect your pride before I drink you under the table." She smirks, raising her hand for the third round. With beer this time, since Bill already looks impressed, and she's not planning to get shitfaced like she usually would.

They sit together like that, even when fellow cops call them for pool or darts or for rides back to their respective homes. Something like an hour into their silent vigil, Bill glances past her shoulder, and a flash of stiff amusement moves over his face.

"Turn around."

Tamsin sets down her beer and turns. An attractive redhead is sitting at the table nearby, her drink untouched, looking at Tamsin with her tongue running slowly over her red, red lips. Even as Tamsin holds her gaze, the woman smirks and brings her drink to her lips. Tamsin watches the movements of her throat as the woman swallows, before she realizes what she's doing.

Tamsin whips her head around so quickly she almost upsets spills whiskey all over herself. Bill pauses with his glass in mid-air.

"You married?"

"No."

"Boyfriend?"

"No." Tamsin repeats.

"Girlfriend?" Bill says, eyebrows arching, and Tamsin hesitates for a moment before she shakes her head.

"Then what's stopping you?"

Tamsin sets her glass down with more force than necessary.

"I don't understand what's going on here. You know what, forget the macho cop bullshit-" Bill opens his mouth but Tamsin barrels on, the irritation suddenly rising in her.

"What is this? If you're going to call me out for sleeping with women you might as well get it over with so I can start kicking your ass."

Bill doesn't rise to the bait.

"I'm not saying shit about you. You saved my fucking life, and I'm not much with words but I'm not trying to start anything. What, you think all cops are homophobic assholes?"

Tamsin doesn't answer.

"Okay, so some of us are. I'm not denying that. But I swear, that was not my intention."

"Okay, fine." Tamsin takes a forceful swallow of her beer and unhunches her shoulders. There is a buzz rising in her stomach now, fuzzing her vision and sending her head to places where it doesn't want to go. "You still haven't answered my question. Why are you doing this?"

Bill motions to the woman behind them. Tamsin sneaks a glance back and- nope, she's still there.

"Shit like what happened today get to you if you're not careful. Most of us have wives, kids- they're the only reason some of the guys stay alive, you know? For the rest of us, it's not so easy. We all have to get through it somehow. There's no shame in needing creature comforts."

"So you're telling me to sleep with some random stranger."

"No, I'm telling you to let it out before you let it eat you up. Look, I've been married twenty years, been happy for longer than that. But my wife? She's at home, asleep, worrying about nothing because I lived to come home to her another day. That keeps you going. You don't have that, you're less of a person."

Tamsin looks out at the rows of bottles on the shelf in front of them, bright flashes of light reflecting off the glass and casting an eerie glow across the two of them.

"There's a girl." She waits, rolls the words around her mind before letting them escape. "There's a girl, but I don't know where I'm going with it or if she's even available."

"Does she know you're here?" Bill asks.

"No."

"Does she care about what you're doing?"

Lauren can't even watch her leave without wanting to stop her. Even just to a bar.

"Yes."

Bill looks at her, tips the bottle to his mouth.

"She doesn't."

Tamsin traces the rings on the bartop.

"So sensation seeking is the answer, huh."

"I'm just saying you have options."

Tamsin looks at him and thinks of everything that she's been missing. Bill means well, she knows. There is logic in what he's saying. She drains her drink in one last swallow.

Lauren would disapprove.

But Lauren isn't even hers. Not yet, and maybe not ever. And if she's being honest, she's holding it together really fucking well right now but she's not sure how long it will last.

The alley outside the bar is dark, filthy, and cramped, but Tamsin still finds her there, waiting with her jacket tied around her waist. She smiles when she sees Tamsin exit through the side door, but Tamsin doesn't. She just walks over and kisses her, bruisingly hard, pushing the woman back into the wall when her hips jerk hard into Tamsin's. The day's events melt away from her when she trails kisses up the woman's neck. She can ignore everyone and everything for a minute, stop thinking, stop feeling anything other than what her body naturally does.

The woman grabs fistfuls of her hair and Tamsin does the same. The woman's tongue is hot against her mouth , and the blood pulses in Tamsin's veins, encouraging her onwards. Hands press against her waist. They move lower.

The kissing moves to touching, and that's when Tamsin pushes aside the strap of her dress, and in the dim lighting, sees the outline of a butterfly tattooed across the woman's shoulder.

Lauren doesn't have a tattoo there.

The sight propels Tamsin away, violently, tearing herself out of the woman's arms and against the opposite wall. Her head is suddenly aching with the force of her movement.

"I'm sorry, I can't-"

It's wrong. Red hair should be blonde. Blue eyes should be hazel, and the woman is too tall and too skinny and too wrong, and now that Tamsin's seen Lauren in her place she can't go back. This whole thing was one fucked up decision, and a mistake, and she needs to leave, now.

"You sure?" The woman husks. "I promise you it'll be good. Really, really good-" She leans forward and a wet tongue flicks out to lick at Tamsin's ear.

"No, really, I have to go. I'm sorry." She feels like she's cheated. Everything guilty pushes up against Tamsin's diaphragm, and she can't seem to get sober as she moves to pick her jacket up off the dirty ground.

The redhead pushes a scrap of paper into her pocket, just as Tamsin brushes by.

"My number. In case you get bored."

Tamsin just nods and pushes away from her, rushing out to the sidewalk and flagging the first cab that she sees coming up the street. She doesn't know how coherent her directions are- the driver could be headed to Winnipeg for all she knows-but somehow she looks out her window and sees her apartment front minutes later.

This isn't the first time she's come stumbling home but it is the first time she's felt ashamed about it, realizing exactly how drunk she is when she takes five minutes to turn her key.

Lauren is still asleep on the couch where Tamsin left her, dead to the world and still cradling the remote like a baby. Tamsin sits on the coffee table. The light is against her back.

She strokes the dark gold of Lauren's hair, enraptured by the peace on Lauren's face as she sleeps. Lauren so rarely lets her guard down; when she sleeps, Tamsin can imagine that she's gone somewhere better than the world they live in. That they somehow thrive in.

It really has been a terrible, revealing day.

The curve of her jaw, the way her eyelashes flutter and her torso moves with every breath she takes; Lauren is beautiful, almost angelic. Watching Lauren's sleeping form, Tamsin feels an almost-painful longing rising in her chest, coupled with a tenderness that she never thought she was capable of. It's overwhelming.

Someday she'll figure out how to use her words.

But it's late, and Tamsin is bone-tired and still a little intoxicated. In the morning, she will be sober and Lauren will still be here and then the time will be right. Then she can say all the things she should have said twenty-four hours ago, when she thought she'd never have the chance. Yes.

Tamsin leans over, still unsteady, and grasps the arm of the couch. She presses a kiss to Lauren's forehead, gentle as not to wake her, and turns off the lamp. Lauren mumbles something and pulls the blanket tighter to her chest.

Tamsin walks to her bedroom, kicks aside the book being used as a doorstop, and tumbles into the made bed. Through the open door, she sees Lauren's form, and the sight is her last as she closes her eyes.

* * *

**AN:** I struggled with this one, and more of the story ended up coming from Tamsin's POV than I intended. But I hope you enjoy, and thanks all for reading.


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